


How to Find Love as an Emo Nightmare

by CinnamonZor



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Demisexual Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Emotional Baggage, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Halloween Store, He does exist in this AU though and is wreaking havoc as we speak, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Janus Sanders is complicated, Janus Sanders' nickname is Deceit, M/M, Panic Attacks, RA Emile Picani, Remus may show up in a later arc but no promises for now, Roommates, Secondary Logicality, Slow Burn, Swearing, Tertiary Remile, Touch-Averse Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Work In Progress, and they were ROOMMATES, established relationships - Freeform, oh my god they were roommates, they all have different last names
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-06-09 20:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19483888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonZor/pseuds/CinnamonZor
Summary: As if adjusting to the nest stage of life wasn't enough, Virgil finds himself particularly conflicted over his new self-absorbed roommate. As it seems, all he can do is hope to avoid any sort of emotional vulnerability....But of course that's easier said than done.





	1. Rabbit Hole

_It’s alright, Verge. You can do this._ These were the obvious lies repeated in the head of the festering ball of anxiety that was Virgil as he stepped away from the line and into the utter psychoemotional warzone that was the Sanders U Dining Hall.

It came as no surprise to Virgil that basic orientation would be so unnecessarily taxing. While he far from disliked the fact that he knew essentially no one at his new school, as it meant he could easily escape any humiliating memories from the past eighteen years of his life, it also posed the issue of being forced to (shudder) interact with strangers.

Being naturally anti-social, his first idea was to seclude himself at an empty table and listen to music as he ate. But, of course, Murphy’s Law once again showed up to smack him in the face in the form of an unnaturally crowded room. While there was no designated lunch-time in college, orientation brought the challenge back to haunt him. As the day’s events had been organized into a rigid schedule to fit all the introductory activities into a single twelve-hour time period, half the incoming freshman class had been clumped together to eat all at the same time. And it was thanks to this that every single table was already occupied by at least two people each.

The purple-haired man considered just sitting somewhere aside from the tables. It wasn’t like what was officially designated a chair or not had ever stopped him in the past anyway. However, he quickly dismissed the idea in favor of not making everyone think he was the “weird guy” right off the bat. Again.

He quickly scanned the tables for any where the occupants weren’t already having a conversation. If he’d learned anything about trying to blend into the crowd, it was that imposing on pre-established groups unscathed was incredibly unlikely. He’d learned that over time the hard way. Of course, this idea bore no fruit either. Somehow, everyone he saw with empty seats at their table were managing to successfully socialize with those around them. Because of course they were. Stupid extrovert overpopulation…

And so, Virgil was left to timidly shuffle his way through the area. Hoping to god no one noticed how awkward he was being at that moment.

“Well, hey there, kiddo! You doin’ ok?” Virgil froze at the cheerful voice coming from behind him, slowly turning toward the source. Standing behind him was a bespectacled man wearing a light-blue polo shirt and sleeves tied around his neck (were those cat paws on the end?). The shorter man quickly checked behind himself to make sure he wasn’t assuming the other was talking to him.

“...Me?” Virgil asked, pointing to himself with one finger as the cheerful man smiled at him.

“Of course you,” the other replied. “If you need a place to sit, we have room at my table over here, ya know! If you aren’t looking for someone, you’re welcome to join us!” Virgil just stared blankly. Had he seriously just been saved like that? Was this dude some kind of godsend? Unless he was trying to make fun of Virgil. Wouldn’t be the first time, after all…

Still, seeing no other option, he decided to cave and take his chances. Wasn’t like he had any other options. Besides, if things didn’t work out, he could just avoid this guy like the plague.

“...Sure, I guess,” Virgil sighed, trying to avoid reflexively shrinking into himself.

“Oh, goodie!” The taller man threw his arm around Virgil’s shoulder. “You’re gonna love these guys! They’re the greatest!” The purple-haired man did everything in his power to not let his touch-aversion ruin his newly found rescue, only grumbling and squirming a bit against the other’s unanticipated contact.

The man in the polo guided him to a nearby table where two other men sat, seemingly arguing about something. One wore glasses like his savior, although the frames were a bit less rounded on the new man’s. His hair was dark-brown and neatly combed with a somewhat slick appearance. He wore a dark-blue tie over a black oxford shirt, seemingly unaffected by the fact that it was still the middle of August. Then again, Virgil was wearing even thicker dark clothing, so who was he to judge?

The other at the table wore a white button-down shirt with the first several buttons undone over a red t-shirt. A large gold logo embellished the v-neck, resembling some sort of medieval family crest. His carmel-colored hair was windswept in appearance, giving him an overall “pretty-boy” look that Virgil found simultaneously intriguing and irritating.

The man in the tie noticed them first, raising an eyebrow as the man with the polo pulled out a chair for Virgil to sit in before scooting over to his own. The pretty-boy noticed his reaction and turned his head to glance over Virgil as well, wrinkling his nose a bit. He was probably some kind of blowhard snob. The purple-haired man had dealt with more than enough of those for the past several years.

“Hey, guys! I’m back,” the man in the polo chirped at the others. “Check out this purp I arrested!” He chuckled to himself as the two gave him a disapproving look. “Get it? Cuz his outfit’s all purple and stuff!”

“Patton,” sighed the man in the tie, “why must you insist on constantly making these infernal puns in every conversation?”

“Aw, come on, Lo,” ‘Patton’ chuckled. “Call ‘em what they are already!”

“Again,” the man insisted, “to refer to such comments as ‘dad jokes’ would be completely inaccurate. Your insistence on being seen as a paternal figure to everyone is still entirely outweighed by the basic fact that you are not an actual father.”

“Oh, just let him have it, Nerdy Wolverine,” sighed the pretty-boy. He proceeded to stuff a piece of chicken in his mouth before pointing up at Virgil. “I’d rather he tell us who this emo nightmare he dragged over is.” Virgil sneered at him and deepened his slouch. Definitely a conceited blowhard.

“Now, Roman, that’s no way to talk to strangers,” the cheerful man pouted, crossing his arms and puffing out his cheeks in irritation. “Sorry about that, kiddo. He means well.”

“Uh-huh,” Virgil mumbled with a quick eye-roll. “Mind telling me exactly who you are, considering you physically dragged me here without so much as telling me your name?”

“Sure thing! Silly me, forgetting to introduce myself,” he chuckled. “My name’s Patton Morales! But you can call me ‘dad’ if you want!”

 _At least buy me a drink first,_ Virgil snarked internally. He decided against sharing it with the others since Patton seemed nice enough to not entirely deserve it. Besides, considering what happened when his high school classmates found out he was gay, who knows how these guys might take it if he gave them any hints.

“Whatever you do, just don’t call me late for dinner,” Patton continued, once again laughing at his own joke. “So, what’s your name, stranger?”

“...Virgil. Virgil Anderson.” He sighed again, wishing he didn’t have to cave to Patton’s request. He preferred to keep himself as anonymous as possible. Stupid basic reasonability.

“Ooooh! ‘Virgil,’ huh?” Patton’s eyes practically lit up as he spoke through a mouthful of macaroni and cheese. For a self-proclaimed group dad, this guy had some childish-ass taste. “That’s so cool! It totally suits you! Doesn’t it, guys?!”

“I suppose so,” sighed the man in the tie. “I’d have to look up the origins and general meanings of the term to say for sure, of course.”

“And who’s Mr. Sunshine over there?” Virgil rested his chin on his hand, pointing at the man in the tie with his other one.

“Oh yeah!” Patton mused enthusiastically. “You guys need to introduce yourselves too! Come on, Logan! You go first!”

The man in the tie sighed once more and turned to stare directly at Virgil with his unenthused face. “Well, even though Patton has already told you my name, I am Logan Lerman. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Virgil.”

“Logan Lerman?” Virgil repeated. “Guess that explains why pretty-boy over here-”

“YES, I have the same first and last name as Wolverine,” Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is it really that surprising that one among seven point five-three billion people on Earth has the same name as a fictional character? Because frankly, it shouldn’t be.”

“I think it’s cool…” Patton chimed in, patting Logan’s shoulder.

“Don’t think calling me ‘pretty’ will get you anywhere, Charlie Frown,” the blowhard butted in. “You’re far from my type as is.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” Virgil replied with a smirk. “You think I’m trying to flatter you. Conceited much, Sir Drama Queen?”

“Oh please,” the other snorted. “It’s only natural for everyone to fall for a charming prince.”

“Roman, for the last time,” Logan interjected, “you aren’t actually royalty just because your last name happens to be ‘Prince.’”

“Your name is ‘Roman Prince?’” Virgil cocked an eyebrow. “Delusions of grandeur much? Your parents must have really wanted to screw up your worldview, huh?”

“Listen here you little-!”

“Guys, quit bickering!” Patton scolded, crossing his arms. “How can you be so mean to someone you just met? Give each other a chance and maybe you’ll end up with one of the bestest friendships you’ll ever have! Ever think about that?”

“You are aware that ‘bestest’ isn’t actually a word, right?” Logan inquired. “It’s important to me that you know that.”

“Anything’s a word if you use it enough,” Patton retorted, his peppy attitude unaffected. “How do ya think ‘selfie’ ended up in the dictionary, silly?”

“Maybe so, but it’s still grammatically incorrect.” Logan bit into an apple and proceeded to chew in silence. As soon as he finished, he returned to his argument. “The word ‘best’ already serves as the superlative form of the adjective. Adding the ‘-est’ suffix only serves to generate unnecessary redundancy, and furthermore-”

As fascinating as Virgil found the petty spat forming between his two new blue-dressed acquaintances, he couldn’t help but turn his attention to the white and red-dressed man still gazing suspiciously at him. The most he could do in return was sigh and try to ignore it, instead trying to alternate his focus between the grammatical showdown and his mashed potatoes.

_It’s only natural for everyone to fall for a charming prince._

Weird. Why was that pompous, corny-as-hell line drowning out the much more amusing argument right in front of him? Probably just latched onto all the memories of the fifty-bajillion times he heard it in movies over the years.

But why did his chest feel kinda weird too…?

And why did his eyes keep turning to that prick before he even noticed…?

It was almost kinda like the way he used to feel around…

 _NOPE!_ Virgil practically bolted up from his seat, standing up straight for the first time that day and slamming his palms on the table. The sudden burst of movement managed to distract Logan and Patton from their argument, all three others at the table turning to confusedly eye Virgil.

“You ok, kiddo?” Patton asked concernedly.

“Yeah,” Roman added, visibly perplexed. “What was that for, Emo Phillips?”

“I… uh…” Virgil spotted the door out of the corner of his eye. Conveniently enough, he noticed several people walking out of the dining hall. He looked over at the clock on the wall to confirm that it was already 1:01 p.m. “Lunch is over. ...Yeah, so, uh… gotta get back to… orienting...”

“Oh yeah! He’s right, guys,” Patton exclaimed, looking up at the clock himself. “Well look at you, all enthusiastic about your education! Good for you, kiddo!”

“That’s true,” Logan butted in. “A good approach to receiving college education does typically coincide with increased levels of productivity, which in turn-”

“Logan, you gave us the exact same speech an hour ago,” Roman sighed. “At least mix it up a bit. I’d even help you with it at this point.”

“Hmm. I suppose that would be useful in gaining your attention while giving advice and increase your informational retention rates. Don’t think I won’t take you up on that, Roman.”

“Great,” Virgil sighed. “ You guys work on that and I’m gonna…” The purple-haired man trailed off, pivoting on his heel and walking toward the door.

“Oh. Ok then,” Patton chirped. “See ya later, Virgil!”

“Yes, bye, Emo Nightmare,” Roman called after him. Virgil didn’t even dignify that with a response. Especially not until he sorted through whatever… THAT thought process was. Who knows. If he played his cards right, he’d never have to see them again. And he could put this whole awkward mess of half an hour behind him. Forever. He stuffed his earbuds in and looked at the schedule in his hand to remind himself of where he was supposed to go next.

_Wherever it is, I’m never heading back down that rabbit hole again._


	2. And They Were Roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil goes about his day while attempting to rationalize the events from lunch. Just when he thinks he has it all worked out, he returns to his dorm to find an unexpected wrench thrown into his plans...

The great thing about having a mild internal freakout halfway through the day is that everything after it seems less mentally taxing by comparison. That’s what Virgil kept telling himself, anyway, as he tried to focus on the afternoon’s introductory seminars and cheesy icebreaker activities.

Even so, he found himself mentally drifting off in the middle of the alcohol policy session. Not like he would need it himself, anyway. He hated parties and had already been scared off from drinking in the first place by all those stupid PSAs and lectures over the years. For a guy who loved creepy, gory stuff, he was surprisingly easy to rattle with general facts of reality.

As soon as the subject-at-hand turned his thoughts to his disdain for greek life, he conjured the thought of Roman at a frat party, using some stupid pick-up line on every girl who crossed his path. As much as Virgil tried to avoid remembering the object of his prior confusion, the idea of Roman as a frat boy was too easy and too personally off-putting to not accept for the time being.

The more Virgil thought about Roman, the more comforted he was by the fact that they were clearly incompatible as people. He smugly chuckled to himself at his utter stupidity in the dining hall earlier. His behavior was nothing more than an ignorant fluke. He was probably just subconsciously seeking an emotional distraction from that-which-shall-not-be-reflected-upon and temporarily latched on to the first guy who gave him something resembling an interest (other than Patton, of course, but his actions were relatively harder to confuse as non-platonic in nature). He decided to just take it as a sign he was successfully moving on and nothing more.

Besides, Roman was the last person at that table Virgil would actually be interested in anyway. Sure he was good-looking, but Virgil had never really considered looks as anything but a side benefit in potential romantic interests. He’d been pretty sure for some time now that he was somewhere mildly on the ace spectrum (jury was still out on that thought, though), and besides, he knew from experience that pretty people were garbage humans more often than not anyway. And what he’d seen of Roman in the few minutes they’d met didn’t exactly deviate from that conclusion.

And then there was the blatant lack of compatibility between their personalities. Roman had quickly proven to be self-absorbed, judgmental, shallow, arrogant, and essentially everything else on Virgil’s red flag list. To pursue a relationship with such a man would only end in constant arguments and Virgil’s mental health somehow declining even further. On the bright side, it’s not like that would actually happen in the first place. The guy was almost definitely as straight as he was straight-up ignorant.

And of course there’s the obvious fact that they’d probably never see each other again anyway. Roman almost definitely wasn’t interested in anything that would cause him to willingly end up in the same place as Virgil, and the same was true vice versa. Again, Virgil hated parties and large social gatherings, no doubt where Roman would spend most of his free time. Not to mention that even if they shared a gen-ed class or two, they’d just ignore each other like the plague anyway. Virgil always kept to himself and Roman would stick to the middle of a crowd, shovelling pointless shallow attention down his chiselled gullet far away from him. And then there was the completely unavoidable conflict of oh hey are those people leaving already?

Virgil snapped out of his lucid pondering and realized that, yes, everyone else was in fact packing up to go to the next location on their orientation schedules. Had he seriously spent the entire seminar rambling out some rationalization of his incompatibility with some random douche he met once for like twenty minutes? A quick look at the time on his phone confirmed that, yes, he had.

Maybe this issue was getting a bit too much of his attention.

He shook his head and stood from his seat at the back corner of the room. He popped his earbuds in and proceeded to head to the next item on his agenda, letting his stream of unnecessary thoughts be cleared away by the deceptively chipper tune of “Choke” by IDKHBTFM.

Several hours passed before orientation day finally drew to a close. Virgil had managed to arrive on the earlier side for dinner, snatching a table for himself and blissfully ignoring the pointless chatter of the random people who filled in around him. As a result, dealing with the group from before had been left entirely out of the picture for the rest of the day.

A part of him felt kinda bad for leaving Patton out to dry like that. Virgil actually managed to tolerate him and the thought of not searching him out again or at least thanking him before the day was over left him with the anxious guilt he knew and loathed. Being resented sucked eggs, but he reminded himself it was for the best. And so, his evening up to that point had been entirely uneventful. In a good way, of course.

As Virgil made his way to the dorms for the night, he attempted to reassure himself that things were going to be fine. Sure, being thrown into independent life and expected to exist as a fully-functional human being was a terrifying prospect, but a new life was exactly what he desperately needed anyway, so he might as well try not to freak out about it too much.

The school’s dorm situation was actually quite nice. Each room was divided into three separate sections: two bedrooms made to reasonably accompany two students each, with a small commonspace linking them and providing access to limited kitchen amenities and a shared bathroom. Virgil had dropped off his stuff first thing in the morning before proceeding to the introductory presentation. He hadn’t had the chance to unpack yet, nor did his roommate, as evidenced by the suitcases left lying on the other bed when he walked in that morning. Hopefully whoever it ended up being was tolerable enough to last the year with. Preferably the quietest, most unintrusive human being on the planet, but he knew getting his hopes up would likely just disappoint him more.

He removed the buds from his ears as he stood in front of door 424, fishing his key out of his jeans pocket. He stuck it in the lock and took a deep, calming breath to prepare for whatever random stranger dwelt ahead, turning the key and pushing the door open. And as soon as he stepped inside…

“Oh my GOOOOOOOOOD!! AAAAAAAAAAA!!”

As if the screaming hadn’t startled him enough, Virgil yelped in shock at the sudden impact followed by deceptively strong arms lifting him off the ground in a spontaneous bear-hug. He attempted to thrash his way out of the overly-affectionate restraints around him to no avail as Patton excitedly carried him from the door to the card table set up to the side of the commonspace.

“Logan! Logan, look! Look who it is!”

“Yes, Patton, I can see that he’s the same boy from lunch,” Logan sighed. “However, I can also see that he is visibly discomforted by your decision to manhandle him like a giant ragdoll.”

“YA FREAKING THINK?!” Virgil snarled from his spot bent over Patton’s shoulder, angrily flailing his legs over the table and nearly kicking a half-empty water bottle off the surface.

“Oh. Oops.” Patton slowly lowered Virgil back to the floor, careful not to drop him on his way down. “Sorry ‘bout that, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me ‘kiddo,’” Virgil grumbled, running a hand through his bangs to re-cover his right eye. “I’m a freaking adult. And you can’t just full-on tackle someone out of nowhere like that! That’s like a nightmare scenario even for people who aren’t touch-averse!”

“You have haphephobia?” Logan mused. “Fascinating. I’ve heard in several cases the condition is accompanied by an intolerance to certain typically unthreatening sounds, smells, or textures. Do you happen to experience any in addition?”

“I get freaked out when someone unexpectedly screams at the top of their lungs,” the purple-haired man grumbled, turning his eyes toward Patton, who stood guiltily rubbing the back of his head. “Does that count?”

“Hmm, no,” Logan replied flatly. “That’s far from unordinary. I struggle to concoct a reason you would think otherwise.” Virgil simply pointed his thumb out at Patton. Logan simply responded with, “ah.”

“Well, on the bright side,” Patton chirped, his mouth stretching into a delighted grin, “I can’t believe you were our other roommate the whole time! This is gonna be so fun!”

“I must agree that it is an interesting development,” Logan replied. “Considering the number of students present for this orientation session, the probability of the seemingly random classmate Patton invited to sit with us before happening to be the final student assigned to our dormitory space was incredibly slim.”

“Ooh-ooh!” Patton gasped, turning to Virgil with sparkling eyes. “We’ll give you an exclusive tour! It’d be a perfect bonding experience!”

“Patton, our living quarters consist of four fairly small rooms which were all covered in the school’s introductory information about the dormitories,” Logan stated dryly. “I hardly think it necessary to explain to Virgil again. And besides, he already saw the room earlier this morning when he brought his luggage.”

“But bondinnnnng…”

“...Well,” Logan sighed, “I suppose being mildly overprepared couldn’t hurt. And it would certainly help to strengthen our bonds with one another, considering we’re going to spend the next year living in the same quarters.”

“That’s the spirit!” Patton cheered. “Come on, Virge! I’ll show you the commonspace first!”

“You mean the room we’ve been standing in for the past five minutes?”

“Yep! You catch on fast!” Patton pointed out various areas and items around the room as Virgil listened idly to his unnecessarily enthusiastic explanations. The card table sat near the front right corner of the room when you entered from the hallway, which Patton had designated the “famILY zone.” Its intended uses so far included in-house meals and snacks, potential game nights, a designated spot for group meetings, and whatever else they thought of later. On the other side of the door was the “kitchen,” which was really just a set of cabinets and a white plastic counter with a sink. Apparently Logan had brought in a mini-fridge, which sat between the front door and counter for use as, well, a fridge.

On the left wall just beside the kitchen area was the door to the shared bathroom. It only had one shower, toilet, and sink, so a schedule would have to be drawn up to avoid any unnecessary arguments over its use, but Virgil took no issue with the system, considering it meant he wouldn’t have to share a giant communal bathroom with all the guys in the building.

Then their “tour” came to the actual sleeping quarters. On the wall opposing the one bordering the hall were two doors. Patton led him to the door on the right first.

“And this room’s where Logan and I are set up!” Patton threw open the door to reveal a mostly empty room. Against the walls to the side of the room were two beds, each already having a set of sheets placed on them. The one to the right was covered in a plain, dark-blue blanket, with a white pillow resting on top of it. The leftmost one was also neatly made, though it contained a small assortment of extra pillows lying at the end, in addition to the light blue comforter with pictures of puppies printed all over it. It only took Virgil about half a second to guess whose was whose.

At the foot of the beds in the frontmost corners of the room were two identical, grey metal dressers. The only real difference between either of them was the sleeve of what appeared to be a cat onesie sticking out of one of the drawers of the leftmost one. On the far side of the room was a large window with open venitian blinds covering it. The window was just above a wooden counter built in for use as a desk with a black swivel chair pushed in underneath on either half of the surface. On Logan’s half sat one of those weird, rectangular, two-halved desk lamps like Virgil remembered from his grandfather’s office when he visited in his childhood. It also had a set of grey metal bookends holding a set of mystery novels in place. Patton’s half had a lamp as well, though the stand took the shape of a porcelain bulldog wearing a pair of golden sunglasses. The light itself was set in the typical cylindrical housing like Virgil was used to, though he never gave it much other note with the bulldog drawing most of his attention when he looked at it.

“You think it looks cool now,” Patton giggled, “you should probably just _sleep on it_ until we get the chance to decorate for real!” Sweet merciful Buddha, did he ever get tired of these dad jokes? Because Virgil sure was and he’d barely known Patton for half a day.

“But enough about us,” Patton chuckled.

“Yes,” Logan agreed from his seat at the card table. “I would prefer if you kept his prying into our possessions to a minimum.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Patton responded. “I’m just glad you’re finally contributing to the tour! You’ve been quiet as a church mouse over there this whole time!”

“Or a church wolverine,” Virgil snorted under his breath.

“I heard that. And wolverines aren’t typically quiet creatures. I suggest utilizing a fact-check before making offhanded remarks.”

“ _Hisss!_ ”

“...Did you just hiss at me?”

“Beats me. Maybe you should fact-check it.”

“You two are a riot!” Patton chuckled. “Anyway, we’ve reached our final stop on Patton’s Exclusive Dormywood Tours! I hear you’re already plenty familiar with it!”

The door to the left of the commonspace’s back wall, closest to the bathroom, was where Virgil had put his stuff earlier. He’d certainly lucked out in that regard, considering he was the last to claim a bed. He had determined that a close proximity to the only lockable room in the space was key to waiting out any late-night, existentially-fueled panic attacks he would probably inevitably have without waking his roommate or drawing other unnecessary attention. He hadn’t had the chance to actually unpack or make his bed like Patton and Logan had before he returned.

Now that Virgil thought of it, he was a bit surprised that his roommate wasn’t out here with Patton and Logan when he arrived. He remembered being one of the last people to leave the auditorium after the closing address, so he was probably here already. Was he still making his bed and unpacking his clothes? Who could possibly take such a significantly longer time than Patton to set up the most basic of living amenities?

Virgil turned the knob and curiously stepped inside. The room was essentially identical to Patton and Logan’s, aside from the personal touches they’d made to their own. His stuff was right where he left it on the leftmost bed, which was completely empty aside from the suitcase he’d thrown onto the mattress. On the other side of the room, he noticed that the dresser had several articles of clothing, some of which he could only rationalize to be costume pieces, sticking out of the drawers. The bed was made with a red blanket with white and gold trim, a white pillow resting at the end.

On his roommate’s half of the wooden work counter was a silver laptop displaying a wallpaper of what appeared to be a screenshot from the movie _Aladdin_ , as well as dozens of papers with writing on them scattered about the area. In what seemed to be the one clear spot on the cluttered half of the surface was an intricate desk lamp shaped like a pumpkin carriage.

Which was being placed there by a familiar, tall boy with carmel-brown, windswept hair.

“Hey, is that you, Patton?” Roman asked, turning toward the door. “What’s all the commo-h my freaking Disney!” He stared at Virgil with a disgruntled look on his face, trying to process the situation he had apparently been thrown into.

“Heyyyyy! Romannnnn!” Patton smiled and waved as Virgil pushed past him into the room. “Guess who’s here?”

“Nice to see you too, Princey,” Virgil grumbled, trudging over to his bed and unzipping his suitcase. “You give everyone a warm welcome like this or am I just that special?”

“If it weren’t for all the edgy crap you’re pulling out of that suitcase that’s been here all day, I’d frankly assume this was Logan’s first attempt at a joke of some kind.” Roman folded his arms and frustratedly plopped down on his chair. “Of everyone to be randomly assigned as a roommate it just had to be the resident emo nightmare!”

“It’s not exactly a cause for celebration for me either, you know,” Virgil sighed and yanked a black blanket with purple bats out of his luggage, pulling one end all the way to the side touching his dresser and tucking it under the mattress. “I was planning on just avoiding the crap out of you for the next four years until this riveting development popped up.”

“I, uh…” Patton stuttered awkwardly, “I guess if it would help, Lo or I could swap rooms with one of you…”

“Oh, thank _GO-_ ” Roman started to exclaim. Suddenly, he trailed off mid-relieved sigh and waved his hands dismissively in front of him. “Wait. No. Forget it. I’m not making you do that just to save me from rooming with Peter Darker.”

“Why not?” Virgil questioned. “It’s a simple enough solution and it doesn’t sound like he has a problem with it.”

“That’s because Patton is a selfless angel who tries to take care of others at his own expense,” Roman explained. “It’s admirable and I aspire to be like him, as should everyone, which is exactly why I can’t let him make this sacrifice just because I’d prefer to be away from your sour mug.”

“Awwwww, Roman! That’s so sweet!” Patton squealed. “You sure you’ll be fine, though? I’ll be fine, really!”

“ _NO,_ ” Roman begrudgingly insisted. “You’re staying with Captain Holt Jr. and that’s final. Phantom of the Eyeliner and I can figure something out for your sake. It’s only the right thing to do.”

“Well, ok,” Patton caved. “If you insist, I guess I don’t have much choice. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even grow on each other!”

“Don’t count on it,” the other two said in unison, Roman more dramatically and Virgil deadpan.

“If you say so,” Patton supposed in a sing-song voice. “Well, I’ll leave you kids be for now. If you need anything, I’ll be in the other room. Night!” And with that, he cheerfully waltzed back to the commonspace, shutting the door as he left. The remaining two just stood in awkward silence for a good minute, still attempting to make heads or tails of this situation.

It was Virgil who finally broke the silence.

“The hell was that about?” Virgil grumbled irrately. “That was probably our one out of this crap living situation!”

“I explained why already, you inconsiderate brat,” Roman growled. “Patton shouldn’t have to give his spot up just to prevent some entirely warranted feuding on our part.”

“Look, Sir Chivalrous, I hate inconveniencing people even more than the next guy,” Virgil spat back, “but at this point, it seriously wouldn’t be that hard to swap me out and move Patton’s stuff in here. If the two of us did it ourselves, it’d take ten minutes, tops, without Patton even having to do anything but sit and scroll through, I assume, pages of cat memes for a bit.”

“It isn’t exactly that simple,” Roman sighed. “There’s more to it than just not wanting to inconvenience him, but as much as I’d love to elaborate, I shouldn’t be the one to explain further.”

Virgil had to admit, he was kinda curious about what Roman meant, but he wasn’t really the prying type. He wouldn’t want anyone else bugging him about his life, and he figured not doing it to others in return would be beneficial in achieving that for himself too. And so, he was left to back off and sigh as he stuffed armfuls of dark clothing into the dresser at the foot of his bed.

“You keep doing that,” Roman yawned. “I, for one, need my beauty sleep. Couldn’t kill you to try it yourself. Those bags under your visible eye are basically a cry for help on their own.”

“It’s eyeliner,” Virgil growled back, “and it happens to be there by choice, o’ Captain of the Fashion Police.” He stuffed the next clump of t-shirts into the drawer a bit more forcefully than the last.

“Insult failed; I happen to like that title,” Roman snorted, yanking his t-shirt over his head and climbing under his covers. “Anyway, just don’t keep me up with your horrendous death-metal or whatever and we’ll figure out the other ground rules in the morning.”

“If I cared enough, I’d tell you that I only listen to death-metal on occasion, but I don’t care so I won’t,” Virgil snapped.

“Sorry. Sleeping. Can’t hear your faulty excuses,” Roman mumbled. “Hey, you emos all have night-vision, right? Mind turning the light off?”

“Just for that, I’m making you do it yourself,” Virgil replied. “Hope you can fall asleep with the lights on like I can, cause if not, you might wanna drag your pretty little ass outta bed so you don’t hate yourself in the morning. Then again, I guess a little perspective probably wouldn’t hurt.”

“All I heard is that you think my ass is pretty,” Roman snickered, climbing out of bed and wandering over to the switch by the door. “I understand your interest, but I’m pretty sure I already mentioned something about flattery and the nowhere it’ll get you to.”

“That was not flattery, you self-aaaabs-” Virgil hissed, spinning around in annoyance before promptly cutting himself off mid-word. As desperately as he wanted to conclude his retort, his train of thought had disappeared almost entirely, the bridge giving out under it and sending it plunging into a raging river of gay panic flowing down from the mountain range coating Roman’s torso because holy CRAP was he ripped.

Virgil had figured Roman was in decent shape just because he seemed like the type to place too much stock in trips to the gym, but he never really considered _this_. His arm muscles were somehow just the right thickness to be prominent, but not exaggerated. His pecs were slim enough to keep his frame from being too intimidating, but large enough to easily be used as a pillow. And then there was the apparent set of skin-eclairs protruding from his stomach that, try as he might, Virgil couldn’t stop from imagining himself licking as this freaking chiselled demi-god held him in his secure, comforting ar-

“Hello? Emo Nightmare? Do you smell toast? I’m pretty sure Logan mentioned something about stroke victims smelling toast…” Not exactly how Virgil expected to finally return to reality, but it did the trick. He blinked sharply and dove over his bed toward the suitcase, burying his face in what remained to be put away of his clothing before Roman could see it turn the color of the shirt he _used_ to be wearing.

“OK, this is a whole new level of crazy,” the shirtless man mused, staring perplexedly at his roommate doing what appeared to be an impression of a scared ostrich. “Did I break you with my beauty or something? Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Quit pretending to be all high and mighty,” Virgil hissed through the remaining items in his suitcase. “For your information, I just thought I forgot my favorite shirt.” Admittedly, the closest thing he had to a favorite shirt was the hoodie he was already wearing and the only clothing left in his suitcase were assorted socks and underwear, but there was no way in _hell_ he was gonna admit to either Roman _or_ himself that Roman’s suggestion was probably exactly what just happened.

“If you say so,” Roman snorted. “I suppose you wouldn’t be able to appreciate the natural charm of a prince anyway. Your loss.” With that, he flipped off the light switch and the room was shrouded in darkness. Only thin lines of moonlight peeking through the cracks in the blinds remained to illuminate parts of the room as Roman yawned again and climbed back into bed. “Night, Emo Nightmare.”

As his roommate drifted off to sleep, Virgil pulled his head out of its hidey-hole. He sat on the edge of his new bed and attempted to rationalize the events of the past half-hour. So far, every last plan and hope he had concocted this afternoon had completely gone out the window, and he somehow short-circuited in front of his roommate/self-proclaimed nemesis over what he refused to classify as infatuation because there was no way he would let that be the case. Looking for something to provide external mental stimulation so his mind didn’t spiral off the rails again, Virgil went back to putting his stuff away in the dark as he thought everything over once more.

There had to be some rational explanation for his reaction. Sure, Roman was hot, that he couldn’t deny. But that alone had never really affected him in the past before now. Virgil knew he was gay, there was no denying that either. But the guys he’d fallen for in the past had all garnered his interest through their personalities, not their looks. It was like his mind had some switch that got flipped when he felt a certain level of respect or compatibility toward them that always left him thinking _what the crap when did you suddenly become **hot?!**_

As far as Virgil could tell, Roman hadn’t done anything worthy of bypassing whatever this mental barrier was. If anything, the exact opposite should have happened. He was still pompous, arrogant, and a general asshole to those around him. ...Right?

The more Virgil thought about it, though, the more he recalled Roman’s actions contradicting what he suspected from his first impression. Even though his blatant distaste towards Virgil hadn’t changed, he was willing to bear their living situation entirely for Patton’s sake, whatever that was. And his choice of decor _did_ seem to indicate elements to his personality aside from the stereotype frat boy he was expecting. Plus, as impressive as his physique was aesthetically, the first aspects Virgil could recall off the top of his head were the ones he immediately associated with a sense of comfort or security.

...Oh god maybe there was something to this whole “potential crush” thing.

As soon as the thought popped into his head, he shuddered and attempted to debunk it as quickly as possible. After all, the guy still acted like a complete condescending jerkwad to a complete stranger just because he disliked his choice of aesthetic. Would Virgil really be interested in someone so petty and shallow? Besides, there was still the glaring likelihood that he was straight. If Virgil became too invested on a wrong guess, who knows how socially or emotionally devastated he’d be in the fallout? He assumed it would fall somewhere along the lines of “a lot.”

Besides, as painful as the reminder was last time, he had to bear in mind that he most certainly didn’t want a repeat of his last relationship.

He took a deep breath, held it for seven seconds, and exhaled for eight. When he was sure he was still stable, he sighed and put the last of his clothing into the top drawer. As glad as he was that he found some use for his crappy history, he wished it served one other than reminding him that everyone is garbage and he was safer in isolation. It is what it is, he supposed.

Before stuffing his suitcase under the bed, Virgil pulled out his phone charger and plugged it into the outlet just above his dresser, resting the device on the metal surface. He still had some work to do before the space felt like it was truly his own, but that could wait until tomorrow. He still had a full day before classes officially began and absolutely nothing better to do. Aside from the discussion of “ground rules” Roman proposed they develop in the morning. Which would most definitely turn into another frivolous sass-fest or unnecessary debate of some kind.

Wishing to put his thoughts to an end until then, Virgil shrugged off his hoodie and hung it off the slightly ajar top drawer of his dresser. He looked over at Roman’s sleeping silhouette and grumbled quietly, pulling back his weighted comforter and snuggling tightly underneath. Surrounded by the happy blanket bubble of security, he closed his eyes and slowly drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My main concern with this chapter is that I may be writing Roman's behavior and dialogue in a way that leans more toward that of a certain fictitious albino actor with a giant ponytail who I may or may not have a crush on... If so, oopsies?
> 
> Not gonna lie, Virgil's demisexuality-based confusion is primarily based on my own. It's like the pinnacle of romantic mixed messages and the main reason it took till I was almost 18 to figure out I was not straight lol
> 
> Btw, I probably would've finished this chapter even earlier, but I found out Cameron Boyce died shortly after I started writing it and I kinda got messed up for a couple days. I was a Disney kid like Thomas and therefore grew up watching Cameron in stuff and I sorta fell into a mini rut of despair and existential terror when I found out. Especially when I learned how amazing he was irl while reading the articles and posts about it. He was an amazing human being who deserved so much better and anyone who disagrees can fight me in a Waffle House parking lot. R.I.P. in peace, Cameron. You were an absolute inspiration and I wish I could hug you.


	3. FamILY Bonding Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Virgil attempts to settle into life with his new dormmates, Patton organizes a group bonding activity that causes him to see the others in a new light. Some more so than others...

_Annnnnnnd there we go._ Virgil thought to himself as he stuck the last piece of tape against the wall, firmly securing his favorite _Nightmare Before Christmas_ poster in place. He carefully climbed down from the top of his bed, stepping back a bit to admire his handiwork.

After nearly two hours of personalization, the purple-haired man had finally finished making the southern half of the bedroom into his own space. He’d hung a couple posters of his favorite movies, bands, and shows, Jack and Sally bookended by an image of the _Black Parade_ album cover and one of a certain triangular chaos-demon surrounded by a wheel of peculiar, yet recognizable symbols.

Stuck along various stretches of the wall were clusters of fake cobwebs. He would have brought his spider curtains from back home too, but there was no way he’d have the guts to even ask permission to attempt that level of reconstruction, so the standard venetian blinds stayed. Under the window on his half of the desk, he set up a lamp shaped like a jack-o-lantern, along with some miscellaneous trinkets he’d collected over the years, such as a skull-shaped plastic wine glass for use as a pencil cup.

On the wall opposite the window, Virgil had set his favorite clock. The hands progressed about sixty times faster than a normal clock, so it was pretty useless for telling time, but it suited the occult vibe he felt at-home in, and he loved the crap out of that thing. Besides, he could just look at the time on his phone anyway, nullifying the only potential problem.

Finally, resting atop his dresser were two items. One was a standard stripey lamp. Nothing too special other than the fact that it shared the double-plugged outlet with his phone charger. After some basic testing, he learned that one of the outlets was set to power down when the bedroom light switch was turned off, and therefore making the most sense to plug the lamp into that one. The other item was a plastic pumpkin head made for use as a candy bucket on Halloween. Virgil hadn’t really set a hard use for it yet, but for now, it fit with the rest of his decor and that was enough.

With a contented sigh, he flopped back-first onto his bed, taking in the returning semblance of familiarity that came with having a personalized living space. Sure he had to share half with a certain egotistical nimwit, but that could be ignored for now as he felt the returning comfort slowly absorb into his cells after spending a full night in what was essentially a blank slate.

Speaking of the other half of the room, it seemed Roman had added some additional touches to his own before Virgil managed to wake up. Much like his actions the previous night and already-existing decor, the newly added elements managed to step even further away from the dumb jock Virgil initially assumed he was.

Rather than the posters of athletes or (Burton forbid) scantily-clad women Virgil would have expected when they first met, Roman’s wall was instead adorned with nearly a dozen posters of various Disney films. From _Hercules_ , to _Cinderella_ , to more recent films like _Moana_ and _Frozen_ , Roman’s wall was practically a shrine to the studio’s projects. Even more surprisingly were the assorted playbills tacked between them, each for a different on or off-Broadway production. Virgil certainly wouldn’t have initially pegged Roman for the musical-loving type, but now that he thought about it, this certainly would explain his “prince” persona and dramatic behavior.

Yet even with all the unexpected items lining Roman’s wall, one small item in particular caught his attention. Taped up above his dresser, right around where Virgil’s clock was on his own half, was a picture of three familiar people.

The image appeared to be a printed copy of a selfie of three people in tuxedos. The picture was taken by Roman, the frontmost person in the image. He was giving a cheesy smile-and-wink pose to the camera because of course he was. He wore a sharp, white tuxedo vest with a red bow-tie with a yellow flower pinned to the jacket. Standing close behind him were the familiar, bespectacled faces of Patton and Logan. Logan wore a black vest with his outfit with a light-blue flower pinned to it, as well as what appeared to be the same dark-blue tie Virgil had seen him wearing casually yesterday. His mouth was formed into a slight smile that Virgil most certainly hadn’t seen at any point yesterday. He was being pulled into a hug by a delighted Patton, who wore a light-blue vest with a matching bow-tie, as well as a dark-blue flower pinned to the front of his vest.

Before Virgil could form any non-immediate thoughts pertaining to the picture, the door to the room suddenly opened and he reflexively flinched, stumbling backward onto his bed as Roman entered.

“Yeesh. What on Earth was that about?” Roman questioned, folding his arms and heading over to his half of the desk, his eyes trained on Virgil’s newly-placed adornments as he walked. “Are all these creepy decorations putting you on edge? Because let me tell you, you’re the lord of it already.”

“Really, Princey?” Virgil sighed. “Calling me an edgelord in the most confusing way possible? You’re lucky I’m smart or I’d probably have missed that sad attempt at a joke. Shame you’re already losing your touch on day two.”

He waited for an irked response, only to be met with silence. Curious to see what could possibly cause Roman to shut his ever-flapping mouth, Virgil turned his attention to the pretty-boy, who seemed to be staring at his posters. His face seemed different from how he initially looked at them when he first walked in, however. Rather than exasperated, he seemed almost intrigued by whatever he was looking at.

“ _Nightmare Before Christmas_...? _Gravity Falls_...?” He muttered under his breath as he analyzed the two posters above the center of Virgil’s bed. He scratched his head, seemingly befuddled by what he was seeing. “Wait, I’m sorry, but… are _you_ of all people seriously a Disney fan?”

“Yeah. What’s it to you?” Virgil grumbled. “Normally I’d ask if you had a problem with that, but you’ve somehow given me reason to believe this is the one thing you _won’t_ make fun of me for.” He scanned Roman’s own decorations, attempting to make it fairly obvious that he was doing so.

“Of course I wouldn’t! What kind of monster makes fun of people for enjoying Disney?!”

“More than you’d expect…” Those jerk classmates in elementary and middle school, to be precise. Thank god Virgil hadn’t seen those little pricks in years.

“Tasteless heathens,” Roman grumped. “Still, I find it hard to believe you of all people would be a self-proclaimed fan of an empire bent on spreading joy and imagination.”

“Excuse me?” Virgil huffed. “There’s more to their films and shows than a simpleton like you would be able to spot. Their stuff is way more complex, dark, and messed-up than you’d even bother to consider, and I happen to find it very fascinating, thank you very much.”

“Oh yeah? Name one ‘dark and messed-up’ thing Disney has made.”

“Literally the entirety of Gravity Falls,” Virgil stated, pointing up at the Bill poster. “I mean, melting an army of your own clones? Psycho dating-sim gaining sentience and murdering its programmers? Genetically-engineered boy band kept in a giant hamster cage? And that’s barely scratching the surface of the _obvious_ stuff while still excluding the events of Weirdmageddon, mind you.”

“...I suppose that’s fair,” Roman grumbled reluctantly, opening one of the notebooks on his desk and scribbling in it in an attempt to drop the subject. Virgil simply smirked and lay starfished-out on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Now that his unpacking was done, he needed to figure out what needed to be done next. As if on cue, the door to their room opened once again, a familiar head of light-brown hair popping through.

“Hey, kiddos!” Patton chirped, sticking his hand in as well and waving. “Oooh! I love all your cool decorations! ...Wait, are those webs real?”

“What? No,” Virgil answered. “I got em at the dollar store.”

“Oh phew,” Patton exhaled in relief. “For a minute there I was worried we’d have to leave and never come back which would be sad cause all our stuff’s here.”

“Patton,” Virgil inquired, “are you afraid of spiders?”

“They’re creepy-crawly death-dealers and I don’t like em,” the usually-cheerful man whimpered with a shudder.

“No need to fear, Padre,” Roman called over without turning around. “I agreed to spider-slaying duty and you know I don’t back down from my committed quests.”

“Thank you…”

“Anyway,” Virgil sighed, “you here for anything specific or did you just wanna say hi?”

“Oh yeah!” Patton exclaimed. “Since everyone’s available now, Logan and I wanted to call a family meeting! You know: plan some ground rules, get to know each other better, usual family stuff!”

“We already know each other, Patton,” Roman stated, spinning his chair to face the door.

“Not all of us, silly!” Patton reminded him, looking over at Virgil and waving again. “And even if we did, it’s my job as a responsible parent to make sure everyone gets along! And a happy living situation is a huge step in the right direction!”

“Well,” Roman sighed, “I suppose I do enjoy a happily-ever-after.” He stood from his chair and headed toward the commonspace. “Come on, Gideon Gleeless. I assume you know how to find the card table.” Virgil simply grumbled and followed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

Logan was already waiting at the card table when they arrived, clipboard in hand. The three sat down at the open sides of the table and the stoic man began the meeting of the suitemates.

The first hour or so was spent discussing the proposed guidelines for scheduling and behavior. A majority of the conclusions were fairly common-sense in nature: no stealing each other’s stuff and prevent anyone else from doing so as well, no giving keys to people outside the four residents unless unanimously agreed upon by the group, no blatant invasions of the others’ privacy without their approval, no bringing people over for “intimate reasons,” and so on and so forth. Policies and schedules were made for the shared bathroom, the other three shared their contact information with Virgil (who begrudgingly gave them his as well), and the (semi) final set of dorm rules were ultimately concluded upon and passed around the table for everyone to sign.

And when it was all said and done, Logan stored away the signed rule sheet to be photocopied later as Patton gleefully leapt from his seat and ran to his room. Virgil curiously watched him leave, wondering what he could possibly be so excited about. His question was answered a few seconds later as Patton rushed back to his spot at the table, holding a small, dark-blue object in his hand.

“Is that my D20?” Logan asked inquisitively.

“Good eye, Lo,” Patton congratulated. “But this isn’t just any twenty-sided die; this is the key to unlocking a lifetime of friendship with everyone here!”

“Yeah, just throwing this out there,” Virgil butted in. “I have no clue how to play Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Aw, come on, kiddo,” Patton chuckled. “Don’t keep dragon your feet.” The others simply let out a collective groan at Patton’s unnecessary pun.

“That aside,” Logan sighed, “as someone who does know how to play Dungeons and Dragons, I think it best to remind you that we need more than just one die.”

“Which is why we aren’t gonna play D&D,” Patton chirped. “Maybe later, if you guys want, but right now we’re gonna focus on getting to know one another!”

“Correction,” Roman butted in. “We’re gonna focus on teaching Emo Nightmare over here about ourselves. Not sure if he’s clued in on it yet, but...”

“Save me the TED Talk, Princey. I already figured out you guys knew each other.” Virgil pulled his legs up underneath him to sit cross-legged on his folding chair. “Real cute photo you got, by the way. I get why Patton hangs out with you, but I still don’t get how neck-tie’s managed to put up with you for who knows how long.”

“I suppose it would be false to state I haven’t pondered that from time to time,” Logan admitted.

“How dare you?” Roman gasped. “When have I ever done anything to earn such unbecoming malice?”

“Bear in mind I still have yet to forgive you for the karaoke incident,” Logan stated cryptically.

“That was two years ago!”

“And yet, my response remains unchanged.”

“You guuuys,” Patton whined. “I haven’t even explained the game yet! Come on! It’ll be fun! Now quit fighting!”

“Oh. Yes. Go ahead, Patton,” Logan replied, his and Roman’s argument ending just as quickly as it started.

“Alrighty then,” Patton chirped, pulling out his phone and holding the die up for everyone to see. “So last night I found this neat list of twenty icebreaker questions online before Logan made me turn off my phone so I could get enough sleep. So we’re all gonna take turns rolling the dice and whatever number it lands on is the question you have to answer. Sounds great, right?”

“Yeah, nope,” Virgil replied, beginning to stand back up. “I’d rather lick a swingset than share unnecessary information about myself with people I’ve barely known for a day.”

“Aw, come on, kiddo,” Patton patted his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, which Virgil promptly jerked away from. “Oop. Sorry. But there’s no need to get scared, you know. It’s not like we’re playing Truth or Dare or anything. All the questions are just fun, harmless get-to-know-you types of stuff. We don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable, after all.”

Oddly enough, Virgil did feel a bit comforted by his words. And, try as he might, he couldn’t think of any real way this could blow up in his face. Probably. Slowly and reluctantly, the purple-haired man lowered himself back onto his chair and pulled his legs back underneath him.

“...Fine. I guess it couldn’t hurt.” Virgil agreed reluctantly. “But I demand the right to leave if this gets too personal.”

“That’s the spirit!” Patton grinned and shook the hand with the die in it. “Now that that’s settled, I’ll go first to demonstrate!”

“I suppose that seems fair,” Logan replied, scratching his chin.

Patton rolled the blue piece of plastic on the table, which came to a stop with the number 10 facing up.

“OK! Question number ten is…” He quickly scrolled down a bit to find the corresponding question. “‘If you could visit any place in the world. Where would you choose to go and why?’”

Seemed like a simple enough question. Virgil himself hadn’t ever really considered where he would want to travel if given the chance. The closest he’d come to pondering such a thing was repeatedly listing places as far away as humanly possible from whatever humiliating or terrifying situation he found himself in. And, while the moon (his most frequent suggestion in those times) would certainly be a serene, secluded option, there still remained the fact that outer space was utterly terrifying in concept and there was no way he’d ever seriously convince himself to go.

“Hmmm…” Patton thought for a moment. “I mean, I’d just be happy wherever my friends are. So I’d say right here is perfect!”

“Patton,” Logan chimed in, “as endearing as that answer was, I believe it would help you answer the question in the intended manner if you were to assume you’d be bringing us with you as well.”

“Oh!” Patton replied. “Then Los Angeles!”

“Ah, an excellent choice!” Roman chuckled. “What’s not to love about LA? The beaches, the cuisine, the celebrities… Not to mention I’d look marvelous with a tan!”

“I guess if you’re into skin cancer…” Virgil mumbled. “Then again, there’s probably tons of music events around that place. Guess it wouldn’t be that bad.”

“Not to mention there would be numerous scholars and forums to observe,” Logan pondered. “And I have always wanted to visit the Griffith Observatory. I must admit, Patton, your suggestion would be quite interesting if we found a way to make it possible at some point. Why did you wish to visit Los Angeles in the first place?”

“Cause they got a dog cafe!” Patton answered enthusiastically. “I wanna pet all the puppieeeeees!” He giggled and squished the paws on his hoodie sleeves against his chin.

“Why am I not surprised?” Logan mused as the corner of his mouth began to faintly twitch upward.

“Your turn, Lo!” Patton giggled, pushing the die to his right for Logan to pick up. The man in the tie rolled the item between his fingers for a bit before gently rolling it onto the tabletop.

“I’ve rolled an eight,” he declared.

“Question number eight: ‘What ice cream flavor would you be and why?’”

“I suppose human-flavor,” Logan replied flatly. “This is a fairly absurd question.”

“Great Casper’s ghost,” Roman sighed. “He means what flavor fits with your personality, not what flavor would ice cream be if you were literally made into it. I, for one, would be strawberry. Because I’m bright and timeless and naturally flavorful.”

Virgil decided to say nothing, though he started to sink awkwardly into himself when he considered strawberry just coincidentally happened to be his favorite flavor. What could he say? It always managed to comfort him. Reminded him of everything that made him stupidly happy as a little kid before he could see the world for the utter disappointment it was. He hoped to whatever was out there that this stupid game didn’t manage to ruin one of the few good things he had left by making him directly associate it with such a clueless moron.

“Hmm. Well, in that case, I’m not particularly sure what ‘personality’ would be associated with the various flavors.” He held his chin in his hand and stared into space, looking thoroughly befuddled by the nature of his question.

“What about vanilla?” Patton suggested, breaking the silence surrounding the table. Logan turned to him with an intrigued look, exuding a hint of surprise that Virgil faintly managed to pick up.

“I guess I could see it,” Roman pondered, “but who’d willingly admit to being the most generic flavor of all?”

“No, no! Think about it!” Patton gasped. “Yeah, tons of people think it’s a dull flavor, but it’s still super popular for a reason! It isn’t flashy and neither is Logan, for the most part. But that’s cuz they don’t need to be! He’s super useful in pretty much every situation like how vanilla is the base of milkshakes and root beer floats and stuff, he knows about tons of different smart-people stuff just like how vanilla can have every kind of topping without tasting weird, and vanilla’s at its best when it’s _with_ some group of extra stuff while still holding it all together perfectly like how Logan’s amazing in leadership roles!”

Logan just stared vacantly at Patton, who turned to him with a proud smile on his face. The tie-wearing man awkwardly cleared his throat and shifted his stare to the portion of the table in front of him.

“…Thank you, Patton,” he muttered. “That was certainly a… thorough and accurate analysis. Perhaps it does bear some resemblance to my primary methods of cognitive functioning.”

“Gotta admit,” Virgil mused, “never thought I’d hear such a weirdly insightful take on vanilla ice cream.”

“Well, it isn’t particularly shocking,” Logan pondered, clearing his throat once more. “It is his favorite flavor, after all.”

“Yeah,” Patton confirmed with a grin. “Sometimes I stick french fries in it! I call it fry-scream!”

“He really does,” Roman sighed. “If it weren’t such an entertaining prospect I’d probably be repulsed by it. Though I admire his ingenuity.”

“Ingenuity?” Patton parroted. “I didn’t know you liked trains, Roman!”

“Oh, sweet Aunt Jemima, just gimme the die already,” Roman groaned, snatching the toy from the center of the table. He flipped the die in the air and it clattered down to the tabletop, coming to a stop.

“Sixteen!” Patton cheered, pulling out his phone.

“Ah, a magnificent number it is,” Roman mused smugly. “So what enchanting insight into my charming brilliance am I destined to share?” He smirked and struck a dramatic pose, chuckling to himself as Patton found the corresponding icebreaker.

“Uh, lessee here... ‘Name one of your favorite things about someone in your family!’” Patton read aloud. “-Oh…”

The cocky chuckling stopped as Roman’s eyes practically bugged out of his skull. Virgil had seen him plenty upset in the short time they’d known each other, but this was the first time he’d actually seen Roman in what appeared to be genuine distress. His arm shot down to his side and his mouth half-closed. Virgil faintly heard the sound of teeth gritting as the pretty-boy’s eyes darted side-to-side toward each of the others inhabiting the table. Logan cleared his throat again, returning to staring at the segment of table in front of him, while Patton scootched back in his seat and lowered his head, looking up at Roman from his faint slouch.

“Um,” Patton stuttered, attempting to feign a lack of discomfort with the current mood. “...Maybe you should re-roll this time.”

“Ordinarily I’d be opposed to bending pre-established rules,” Logan coughed, “but I believe we can make a fair exception in this case.”

“Am I missing something?” Virgil inquired, in spite of the voice in the back of his head screaming at him that it was probably a stupid idea. “You guys are acting weird… -er than usual.”

“Whaaaaat?” Patton chuckled hollowly. “What, uh… whatever gave you that idea, ya goofball? ...Heh-heh…”

“It’s fine, Patton,” Roman mumbled, distinctly upset. He paused to take an accepting breath before elaborating. “If you must know, I’m... not exactly on the best terms with the King, Queen, or Duke of the Royal House of Princes. It’s nothing jaw-droppingly dramatic, for the most part. I’d simply prefer to further my own stories rather than reflecting on those which I cannot change.”

Virgil started guiltily fidgeting with his hands as he pondered Roman’s account. He glanced around the table at Logan and Patton, both of whom sat in knowing silence. The purple-haired man sighed and awkwardly rubbed his forearm, attempting to block out the voice chastising him for bringing everyone down by doing exactly what he wanted to keep them from doing to him like a brainless idiot.

“...I get it.” Roman cocked an eyebrow and turned to face Virgil, who spoke up in a somewhat apologetic-sounding tone. “I guess I should say sorry for saying anything in the first place. Everyone’s probably got some mess in their head they’d rather lick a swingset than talk about. It _is_ why I didn’t wanna play this in the first place, after all...”

Starting to worry he was accidentally talking about himself too much for an apology, Virgil concluded his train of thought.

“I guess my point is not to worry about it. I’m not exactly interested enough to bug you more than this anyway. I’ll stay out of your depressing crap and you stay out of mine. Fair enough?”

“...I suppose that’s fair,” Roman mumbled in agreement. “At least you know how to exercise basic respect for others.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward a bit before he took another faint breath. In an instant, his face reset to its typical grinning form, almost as if he’d pushed a button to completely shift his apparent emotional state. The remaining three eased back into their original content states as he picked the die off the table and turned back to Patton, preparing to throw the die back onto the table. “Alright, Padre! I accept your pardon! Let the challenge resume!”

“On it!” Patton chirped, already preparing to search the list again.

The rest of the game continued with no hitches beyond the level of those surrounding the first two questions. Virgil, in a response unsurprising to Roman, claimed Jack Skellington as his favorite cartoon character. Logan attempted to deny he had any quirky habits until Roman reminded him of the time he let himself into the tie-wearing man’s house and accidentally caught him reading in a unicorn onesie. Patton chimed in as well with his own story about the time he found Logan wolfing down an entire jar of Crofter’s jelly with a spoon while trying to hide at the bottom of a stairwell. While not particularly enthused by his friends’ lack of discretion, he was allowed another role when he was later asked what food he would want an endless supply of upon rolling a one. On one of Patton’s own turns to answer, he declared that “super cool dad” were the three words that best described himself. No one was remotely surprised. The same could be said for Virgil informing them all that he was a night person. Not knowing things was a pet peeve of Logan’s, one of the key offenders being whatever was at the bottom of the ocean. And on one of Roman’s turns, he declared that the primary goal he wished to accomplish in his lifetime was between voicing a future Disney prince and obtaining an EGOT.

Virgil received the same question a few turns later. He thought about it a bit when Roman first received it, but he had yet to concoct an answer by the time he rolled a three of his own. Try as he might, he couldn’t find any sort of notable achievement to strive for without determining it doomed to fail one way or another. The other three watched in awkward silence until he finally admitted defeat.

“Whaaat?” Patton gave Virgil a somewhat concerned glance as he tried to keep an encouraging smile on his face. “Aw, come on, bud! Everyone has some kind of goal! Even if they don’t know it yet, there’s gotta be something you wanna do.”

“Of course I have stuff I wanna do. I just…” Virgil trailed off, thinking through his words, “haven’t really found something to try to do beyond immediate stuff. I dunno, I just can’t really think more than a month in advance without stuff getting to the point where it could easily fail. Everything goes wrong all the time. If you expect something too big too far ahead you’re really just setting yourself up for disappointment.”

“Perhaps Murphy’s Law is a significant and realistic deterrent,” Logan chimed in, “but one should still have an ultimate plan in mind to structure their life toward achieving. By choosing to live in a passive manner you would only set yourself on a path that guarantees that anything with even the slightest chance of being made a reality is reduced to a non-existent likelihood.”

“Thanks for the pep-talk, Nutty Professor,” Virgil grumbled, resting his elbow on the table and supporting his face against his fist. “Doesn’t exactly change the fact that I’m low on ideas.”

“...I suppose that’s a fair point,” Logan conceded. “Rushing into setting one’s goals does also typically increase chances of developing into an outcome like those you state you wish to avoid.”

“Then just make that your goal.”

Virgil turned toward Roman, who until then had been surprisingly silent since the question had been asked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Robert Downer Jr.” The pretty-boy crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “I may not be able to relate to your depressing lack of ambition, but the obvious way out of this directionless funk is finding some sort of goal to strive toward. So just set finding your goal _as_ your goal until you achieve and replace it. There. Was that so difficult?”

As stupid as Roman’s rant sounded at first glance, Virgil had to admit he kind of had a stupid point to it. If he didn’t have a goal yet, finding it was the most blatantly obvious goal for the time being. He hated that it made sense, but it still did.

“...Guess that’ll work for now,” he grumbled. “...Guess I should thank you too, Princey. Maybe you’re not so clueless after all.”

“Oh,” Roman replied, clearly unprepared for Virgil to say something resembling gratitude. “In that case, I suppose I would best accept your thanks. I don’t expect you to be the type to throw it around too often, even if it’s deserved.”

“Yeah, well I’m full of surprises, your highness,” Virgil sighed. “Deal with it.”

“I suppose I must, considering our current living arrangement,” Roman mused. “And I suppose it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to help you find some sort of goal while we’re at it. I am quite marvelous at bolstering ambition, considering my own journey and rousing success in kicking off your own!”

“Guess it couldn’t hurt,” the purple-haired man pondered, rubbing his forearm as he looked at Roman out of the corner of his eye. He reflexively shifted his focus down to his lap as Roman flashed a smile at him. Strangely enough, it felt completely different than the smug one he’d used while bolstering his own vanity over the course of the game. It was softer. More genuine. For a moment, Virgil thought he’d felt that mythical “hope” stuff people always talked about in cheesy monologues. It seemed to radiate the kind of brightness that didn’t make Virgil wanna hiss and hide under a blanket. It felt really, really weird and out of place, but somehow in a good way. Almost like the comfort he felt while listening to music but visual. It was so comfortable and he never wanted to leave it for even a sec-...

“Kiddo? Are you feeling OK?” Patton called over, waving a hand in front of Virgil’s face. “You’re turning _really_ red.”

Snapping out of his trance, Virgil jolted against the back of his seat, jerking back into a massive slouch and trying to bury his face inside his shoulders. Roman’s face scrunched up in what seemed to be confusion, while Logan raised an eyebrow in an almost inquisitive manner. Refusing to let the group linger on his unwanted gay panic, Virgil quickly picked the dice back up and lightly tossed it to his right. “Great. Question answered. Patton, your turn. Go.”

“Oh! OK!,” Patton chirped, seemingly oblivious as he went along with Virgil’s subject deflection. He looked the die over and rolled it on the table. “Gosh darnit! Landed on nine again.”

As the game started drawing to a close, Virgil found his thoughts frequently drifting away from the others and toward his newest freak-out. As much as he wanted to deny the possibility of his behavior indicating what he was beyond afraid of it indicating, the fact that he’d gone through this internally conflicting behavior a grand total of three times in the past day and a half was making it _really_ hard to keep writing it off as a fluke. He almost wanted to escape it altogether by burrowing into the snuggliest depths of his dresser and hiding away forever, but that was probably one of the few things that could still make the others even more suspicious that something was up with him.

Goddamn it, why? Why was he like this? How did he somehow keep falling for the biggest prick in the room and thinking they were better than the obvious problems they swung in his face like a pair of psychoemotional nunchucks or something? At least the first time it wasn’t _nearly_ this obvious that he’d be setting himself up for a flaming pile of diminishing mental health.

Oh for crap’s sake. Now he was just going in circles. This was pretty much the exact same spiral he went down last night. And it wasn’t exactly more enjoyable the second time around.

Wanting to break this stupid, repetitive cycle of whatever the hell he refused to admit this was, Virgil decided to do what he did best (well, aside from unfettered cynicism and panicking over the slightest hint of emotional vulnerability, anyway): deal with what happens as it happens. If his brain thought it was somehow a good idea to enter useless gay mode around the Fresh Prince of White Castle, then he’d just let time prove it wrong. If there really was something to this whole “falling like a casket full of cement for this narcissistic dolt” thing, which there almost definitely wasn’t aside from a couple stupid flukes and momentary weakness, then maybe things would work out for the better for once. After all, Virgil was even more cautious than before. And that caution was exactly the tool he needed to stay out of harm’s way for as long as humanly possible.

“Oh my god, Emo Nightmare! Will you just roll the freaking die already?!”

“Perhaps he’s experiencing side-effects of sleep-deprivation or an attention-deficiency disorder.”

“Is _that_ where the huge bags under his eyes came from?”

“Patton, that’s eyeshadow. Though it could easily be covering actual bags under his eyes...”

“Oh for- look! I’m rolling, OK?!”

“Ooh! Another infinite food one! Got any food for thought on that one?”

“Patton, please no more puns until the game concludes.”

“Still dad jokes!”

“So can I answer now, or…?”

Yeah, this was gonna be a long enough year even without the emotional turmoil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say to please just let me sleep, but I have no one to blame but myself in this case... and most cases...
> 
> Logan would be ashamed.


	4. Biding Our Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil returns from a late class, more than ready to faceplant in bed. But, as he's re-learned numerous times, we can't always get what we want.

As expected, the first few days of classes were particularly draining for Virgil. While he drastically preferred the more spread-out scheduling system over the utter mess that was the American high school schedule, adjusting to the now two and a half-hour classes would take some time.

The first day of each new class was spent entirely going over the syllabi and, while keeping up with the professor’s explanation was fairly simple, a faint voice kept poking at the back of Virgil’s brain.

_Oh please. Like you can actually manage this crap on your own._

_How much you wanna bet you’ll get lost in the first month?_

_You only got through high school because of him, you know…_

Aside from flinching a bit at the last thought, Virgil managed to ignore the pests trying to bite at him. He’d gotten used to them badgering him, or at least to a level where he could successfully block the lighter ones from affecting him too much. He wasn’t gonna let them have the satisfaction. Instead, he took a deep breath and directed his full attention toward the professor.

This pattern continued throughout the next week as the introductions drew to a close and the classwork began for real. Virgil would wake up, fairly early three out of four days due to a recurring eight a.m. class, try to process the day’s material, and return to the dorm after each class to work on assignments and dick around on the internet. He’d have the occasional run-in with his roommates throughout the day and was dragged with them to get lunch every so often (Patton and Logan particularly insisted on everyone practicing healthy eating habits), and joined in when the others invited him to hang out or study. The internal issues remained, but otherwise he felt somewhat… content.

In spite of his typically off-putting demeanor, the group had practically become his own friends, easing them into their bond despite his lack of the history they shared. While they still regularly bickered, Roman had become fairly easy to put up with as well, even when overlooking his reluctant crush. It was a fairly unfamiliar notion, to be part of a seemingly healthy dynamic like this, but it eased the pit of loneliness Virgil had expected to be holed up in for the rest of his years. It was nice. Hopeful, even, to have a semblance of belonging for a change.

He had three classes on Wednesday, the third of which ending at roughly 9:45 at night. As soon as the professor dismissed them for the day, Virgil jammed his earbuds back in and slunk back to the dorm. The music filled his mind and brought him to a better place as he exited the building and headed down the illuminated sidewalk.

The campus was located a short distance from downtown and was fairly urban itself. The tall buildings to the west caught Virgil’s eye as he noted the small lights protruding from a number of them. It soothed him a bit as he made his way back. The school’s security was known for being particularly effective, making campus one of the safest places in the general area, though it still didn’t fully discourage the ever-paranoid man from loosely gripping the mechanical pencil in his pocket in the unlikely event he’d have to defend himself.

As he walked and peeked over the city skyline, Virgil found the particular song playing blended well with the impressive scenery. The slow, soft melody and smooth vocals filled him with a sense of calm and wonder that perfectly matched the captivating urban night aesthetic displayed a short distance away. His stress and doubt melted away as he lost himself in the visual and auditory majesty of his surroundings, reaching the dormitory hall sooner than he anticipated with a faint smile on his face.

He flashed his student I.D. to the RA working the front desk as soon as he walked through the door, heading over to the elevator and restarting the song as he waited for it to arrive. He was the first out the door when class ended, and some of the others from his class had arrived shortly after him, gathering by the elevator themselves. A couple of them started conversing about the information covered by the professor, but Virgil tuned them out until the elevator finally arrived.

Everyone else got out before the fourth floor, leaving Virgil alone on the elevator by the time he reached the top. He turned right down the hall after stepping out the door, passing the floor’s lounge area just outside the elevator as he headed back to his room for the night. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Roman lying on one of the couches set up in the area. While the improvement in their relationship was fairly notable, Virgil was still too tired to put up with the confusing nonsense that had been going on concerning his feelings for the man. And so, he opted to wordlessly ignore Roman and stay lost in his music on his way back to 424.

He dug through his pocket for his room key as he softly hummed to the lyrics, remaining in the internal happy-place he’d come to love so much. By the time he arrived at the room and fished out his key, his thoughts had become a simple, alternating loop of bed, music, bed, music…

Which was promptly cut short by the key being swiftly and forcefully smacked out of his hand before he could put it in the lock.

Virgil yelped at the sudden contact and fell backward, landing on his backpack with a low THUD as he frantically tried to process what was going on. He defensively curled into himself and held his struck hand, kicking at the ground in a frenzied attempt to scoot away from the assailant.

“Dear lord! Are you _hissing?!_ ”

Slowly, Virgil’s pulse lowered and the reality of the scene before him began to take shape. Standing between him and the door was a particularly unsettled Roman, slightly panting as he inched slightly away from his floored roommate. As he processed the things around him, Virgil found his former fear transmuting to agitation towards the offending “assailant,” irately ripping the buds from his ears.

“...Princey?! What the hell was that for?!” The purple-haired man seethed as he picked himself off the floor, still holding his hand where Roman had smacked it. “You can’t just freaking _charge_ someone like that! I thought you were trying to kill me or something!”

“Well ex-CUSE me, Livid and Maddie!” Roman folded his arms. “I tried to get your attention the normal way, but _someone_ couldn’t hear me through those damn earbuds he refuses to take out unless he absolutely has to!”

“Oh, sure! Just blame the damn victim, why don’t ya?! Hey, while you’re at it, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind explaining why it’s my fault the economy’s in the freaking toilet too?!”

“Oh, please,” the pretty-boy scoffed. “Now you’re just being overdramatic! And that’s coming from me!”

“I’M overdramatic?!” Virgil snarled. “You just sprinted three doors down the hall to straight-up slap a key out of my hand for no good reason!”

“I had a reason,” Roman refuted. “Again, I tried to get your attention in a more reasonable manner, but you obviously couldn’t see or hear me yelling behind you! And I wouldn’t have gone so far in stopping you without a good reason!”

“Rrgh,” Virgil grumbled, picking his key off the floor in front of the door to the left of their own. “Fine. Then care to enlighten me as to what this oh-so important reason could possibly be?”

“I,” Roman started, trailing off with a sigh. “...may be responsible for letting things get this far. I was supposed to be waiting in the lounge to catch you when you got back, but… I was given a poisoned apple and fell asleep. The elevator broke the spell but you had your back to me before I could regain my senses and I… suppose I may have overstepped my goal.”

“What, you guys planning me a surprise party?” He snorted. “I’m not exactly a fan of surprises _or_ parties. Besides, you clearly don’t know when my birthday is…”

“It’s not about you. I was trying to help out the others,” Roman sighed. “Can we talk in the lounge for now? Standing around with that backpack of yours is only going to worsen your already nightmarish posture.”

Virgil conceded with a grunt, following Roman back to the area just outside the elevators. He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and dropped it on the edge of the couch, sitting beside it and glaring impatiently at Roman, silently insisting he find out what was going on. In spite of his general “no prying” rule, there was no way he was just ignoring this flagrant violation of his personal space without a good reason. Crushes be damned.

“I know it may not be obvious,” Roman sighed as he plopped down beside Virgil, “but Padre and Microsoft Nerd only have so much time to themselves. Patton is always going out of his way to help others and Logan is always busy doing whatever it is nerds do all day. I’m never really sure.”

“Either way, neither of them like admitting that they need downtime. But, even if Logan seems like a robot sometimes, they’re still human. It’s been a while since they got any time to themselves, especially in the past couple weeks. So, I wanted to give them the dorm to themselves for a while so they could have dinner or something without having to worry about us.”

As Roman explained himself, Virgil found it harder and harder to be pissed at him. Beyond the whole key-smacking part, of course. He had to admit that Logan and Patton had been a great deal of help since he’d met them. If anyone deserved an appropriate amount of downtime it was those two. In fact, it was actually kinda sweet that Roman would go to so much trouble to help them. Their friendship really was something to be envied…

Still, there was one part that left Virgil vaguely confused.

“…But why like this?”

“Where else would we go? It’s not like there’s anywhere better we can hang out this late.”

“No, dumbass. I mean why are we having them hang out together for downtime? Wouldn’t it make more sense to have them do their own things or have everyone do something together? No way Patton wouldn’t at least consider the second option.”

Roman opened his mouth slightly as if to respond, pausing before he could say anything.

“It’s… not for me to tell you,” he finally replied.

“What do you…? What? How?”

Virgil was vividly perplexed at this point. He’d only known the others for a short time, but this seemed fairly out-of-character for them. Why would Patton not wanna spend his free time with the others if someone else could be left in charge of planning? Why would Logan wanna spend his free time with possibly _the_ most distracting member of the room instead of reading something on his own? And how was any of this not for Roman to tell him? The only thing that really seemed to make sense in this context was if Patton and Logan were…

_…Wait._

As soon as the possibility entered his head, Virgil started considering things in a different light than he had before.

When Patton compared Logan to his favorite ice cream flavor and the flattered reaction it provoked out of the seemingly stone-faced man.

The corsages in the prom selfie (which he’d admittedly peeked back at a couple times since he first discovered it) seemed out of place because they matched each other’s dominant colors rather than their own.

Why Roman was so adamant that the two room together even if it meant he was stuck with Virgil.

And now this entire situation.

The more he thought about it, the more the evidence seemed to point to…

“...Roman?”

“Hmm?”

“Are…” Virgil took a short, calming breath. “Are Logan and Patton dating?”

As he asked the question, Roman turned to him with a look more serious than anything he’d seen on the man’s face before. It wasn’t one of Roman’s typical dramatisms. Virgil had no doubt this was a genuine, almost protective reaction.

“Would it bother you if they were?”

“Aw. Protective Princey,” Virgil snorted, leaning back against the couch. “Relax. I got nothing against two guys dating. Does explain a couple things, though.”

Roman faintly sighed in relief. “So you really have no problem if the two of them are together?”

“I’m not a hypocrite,” Virgil replied. “And I guess they do work surprisingly well together, as far as I’ve seen. Guess I’m kinda happy for them.”

_And a bit jealous…_

“Good. You should be,” Roman huffed. “I suppose I should thank you for being supportive, but it’s really just basic human decency.”

“How thoughtful,” the purple-haired man snarked. Unlike before, however, there was no hint of venom in his tone. When it came down to it, Roman really was a good friend. Plus, now there was apparently no reason to worry about him being a homophobe. Yet another major fear crossed off the list.

With a small yawn, Virgil folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. Usually, Virgil would still be wide awake at ten p.m. He always found his best motivation at night. But the events of the day had been particularly draining, only slightly off-set by the shock of the earlier altercation. Perhaps that was why he didn’t stop himself from ever-so-slightly ignoring his “mind your own beeswax” policy.

“So how long’s this been going on?” he muttered.

“A bit over a year,” Roman replied. “And a magnificent one at that! Ah, how I long for such wonderful romance as theirs. But of course, my natural charm is destined to catch the eye of true love someday…”

“Too tired for this narcissism crap,” the purple-haired man grumbled.

“Envious much, spoilsport?” Roman smirked, maneuvering his arms into the dramatic pose he loved so much. “If you’re that desperate to find love, I’d be benevolent enough to give you a makeover to up your chances of not sending potential suitors running in fear.”

“Considering your visible fashion sense, hard pass,” Virgil sighed.

“You dare belittle my regal ensemble?!” Roman sputtered. “At least I don’t buy all my clothes at Hot Topic like a certain Danny Downer!”

“For your information, I bought this shirt at Spencer’s,” Virgil snorted in his half-asleep state, yawning again as soon as he finished his sentence.

“Oh god, people actually buy clothes there?” The pretty-boy shuddered at the idea. “Their clothing assortment is somehow even worse!”

“Yeah, even I think it’s a bit rude for my tastes,” Virgil muttered. “Just bought it cuz I had an employee discount.”

“You work at _Spencer’s?_ How are you not bleeding from the unbearable edginess?”

“Nah,” he explained. “Halloween store they own. Discount carries over.”

“Why does it not surprise me that you worked at a Halloween store?”

“Still do. The one around here starts set-up next week. Building the thing every year sucks, but once we open it’s great till everyone swarms to buy stuff last-minute and we gotta take it down again.”

“To each their own, I suppose,” Roman chuckled. “Though I do adore Halloween myself. Any and all excuses to make costumes are completely worth the creepiness they come with!”

“You make your own costumes too? Figured you were the type to just buy something on Amazon.”

“You cease this slander! Everyone knows making them’s half the adventure! We always make our own!”

“Really? What’s Logan do? Throw on a mask he found at the party store and call it a day?”

“Actually, Microsoft Nerd’s the best of all of us. Even I myself am humbled by his unparalleled skill in masquerade-creation.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I would never! You should’ve seen him last year. He ended up…”

Before he even realize, Virgil managed to become completely engrossed in small talk with Roman. He never figured they’d be able to talk about much aside from Disney, nor did he enjoy small talk in the first place, but somehow, the two managed to chat naturally for the next hour. His pompousness got annoying every so often, but listening to his reluctant crush talk about random stuff was somehow… interesting.

For the next half-hour or so, Roman regaled him with whatever came to mind, brought to life by his apparently innate talent for storytelling. How the three had met in high school, weird things the others had done for one reason or another, some of his past projects and his favorite musicals, reactions to the occasional jab or subject Virgil piped up with. As strange as it sounded in his head, chatting with Roman like this was somehow almost _comforting._

So much so, that Virgil’s tired state eventually caught up to him. He wasn’t entirely aware when he’d nodded off, aside from faintly remembering Roman saying something about a Dragon Witch. Before the caramel-haired man even noticed, Virgil descended into the realm of sleep.

\-----------------

“...As the swirling maelstrom of dark magic enveloped the ceiling of the Dragon Witch’s lair, I readied my trusty katana and prepared to charge! I took off, narrowly dodging a blast of green fire and-!” Roman trailed off from the story as he felt a light weight suddenly appear on his shoulder. Somewhat perplexed, he glanced over to investigate, discovering one of the last things he would have ever expected to be there.

A purple-dyed head of hair attached to the sleeping form of Virgil Anderson. Dozing unaware on Roman’s side.

“What in the-?” he began, cutting himself off as he processed what was going on.

_Did he seriously just fall asleep? The nerve! I thought he LIKED my story! Uncultured heathen…_

He turned back to the emo with a disapproving glare, his offense going unregistered as the man gave a particularly deep exhale and nuzzled against his arm before his breathing evened out again. Roman sighed in defeat and attempted to move as little as possible. Story or none, letting his tired roommate continue to sleep was the honorable thing to do. And so, he resigned to his fate as a momentary pillow as Virgil dozed against him.

Logan and Patton’s date was probably almost done at this point, so he fired off a quick text to the former to ask for his assistance when he came to let them back in the dorm. He didn’t specify _what_ he needed help with exactly, knowing Patton would joke about it for days if he saw them like this. He didn’t anticipate the possibility as much more than an annoyance, but something told him the man on his shoulder would be fairly upset if he found out about his unintended vulnerability.

Roman grumbled a bit at the universe’s mockery of him. For the longest time, he’d dreamed of this exact same scenario playing out with his non-existent boyfriend. And now, here he was, hopelessly single with his snarky emo roommate napping on him instead. Because of freaking course it’s the ones who wanted it the most who always end up without it.

With a disappointed sigh, he glanced back at Virgil’s sleeping face. Oddly enough, he seemed fairly different in this state. Even with all the unchanged artificial elements of his appearance, the man no longer carried the angsty, emotionally-withdrawn aura Roman had grown accustomed to over the past week. He’d seen bits of it chip away before, but this was the first time Virgil had actually become significantly vulnerable in his presence, even were it not by choice.

His soft, even breathing pushed his overgrown bangs a small bit away from his face, falling back into place whenever he inhaled. His eyebrows were no longer positioned in an attempted menacing formation, instead taking a relaxed state above his eyes as he dozed in peace. His mouth had also abandoned the eternal frown and smug smirk that Roman had rarely seen him without, replaced with faintly parted lips as some of the air he exhaled escaped through them every so often.

The more Roman watched, the more he realized the possibility that this was Virgil’s true self. Thinking back on his behavior, particularly during the icebreaker challenge from the weekend before, while watching him in this state started putting things in a more understandable perspective. The idea formed that maybe he was putting on an act of his own, just as Roman would. Rather than actually being some snarky, anti-social brat, perhaps he was hiding behind it to protect himself. Because as he gazed over his roommate’s sleeping form, that was all Roman was able to see in his appearance: a worn-out, vulnerable kid in makeup and edgy clothes. One who seemed to incite a natural desire to protect. In a way, it was almost sort of… cute.

“Ah. So this is what you meant by ‘unforeseen dilemma,’” mused a deadpan voice, snapping Roman out of his stream of thoughts.

He quickly turned his head toward the source, discovering Logan standing before them with a box of bandaids. “You two appear to be enjoying yourselves,” the man in the tie observed, glancing down at the sleeping Virgil, then back toward Roman. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you adopt that particular smile since the ‘Change Your Mind’ episode of Steven Universe.”

“Excuse moi,” Roman protested, quieting down once he remembered the sleeping human less than a foot from his face. “I smile all the time, Disaster of the Obvious.”

“No, I’m well aware of your frequent smiling,” Logan corrected. “I said, ‘that particular smile.’ It appears more natural than the grin you typically adopt and tends to coincide with your more frequent failure to pay attention to me. Case in point.”

“Since when are you Mr. Emotionally-Aware?” Roman sighed. “Oh, forget it. Just get this sad-sack off of me.”

“It would be simpler to just wake him and have him walk back himself,” the taller man suggested.

“Wha-?!” Roman sputtered before remembering to quiet down again, turning his tone to a hushed yell. “Have you no sense of basic decency?! You don’t just wake someone up when they’re tired! Everyone knows that!”

Logan smirked a bit at Roman’s irked criticism. “I’m glad that you’re being so considerate of Virgil. It’s most certainly an improvement from your initial dynamic.”

“Of course I’m considerate,” Roman huffed. “All princes are inclined to be perfect gentlemen toward those within their kingdom.”

“It’s an improvement,” Logan repeated. “However, regardless of social boundaries, I think it best to remind you that I still possess the least amount of relative strength when compared to you and Patton. If the chance of Virgil waking should be minimized, it would be through you carrying him yourself.”  
“Are you blind? He’s _on_ me. How am I supposed to move like this?”

“It’s not that difficult. I can simply hold him in place while you get up.”

“...Fine. But you’re carrying that backpack.”

“Perfect.”

The lanky man crouched down a bit and placed his hands on the side of Virgil’s shoulders. He gently removed him from Roman’s shoulder, maneuvering him into a central sitting position and holding him in place. The sleeping man’s face wrinkled a bit into a somewhat confused or uncomfortable expression, and yet, his eyes remained closed. With his shoulder finally free, Roman stood from the couch, stretching his limbs after remaining still for so long. Strangely enough, his shoulder felt unusually cold where Virgil once was. He’d probably just gotten used to the extra body-heat.

Once he had sufficiently limbered up, Roman crouched in front of Virgil’s seat as Logan lifted the suspended man’s arms over his shoulders until his armpits were firmly situated against his trapezius. Roman reached behind himself and gently lifted Virgil off the couch by the back of his knees. The purple-clad man stayed on like a human backpack, and before Roman began to walk back to their dorm room, Virgil slowly grabbed onto his opposite elbows, giving Roman what seemed to be some variation of a hug around his collar.

“Ah, Casper’s ghost,” he grumbled. “Did we wake him up?”

Putting Virgil’s backpack over his shoulders, Logan moved closer and took a look at Virgil’s face. Oddly enough, his eyes were still closed. His breathing was gentle and even. There was no apparent sign of him feigning sleep either. Although, Logan noted that his face had shifted back from the unsettled expression he had taken on before.

“Fascinating,” he quietly pondered. “He appears to still be asleep. It seems he managed to hold onto you _through_ his unconscious state.”

“Is that weird?” Roman wondered aloud, starting to walk again. As he headed down the hall, he felt Virgil’s warm breath ghosting the side of his neck. He was still fairly irked by the desire to be doing such with a boyfriend that currently did not exist instead, but for some reason, it was easier to accept than he would have anticipated.

“Well, sleepwalking isn’t nearly as common as popular media portrays it to be, though it’s still far from unusual,” Logan explained, holding his chin between his fingers in thought. “It’s typically spurred by sleep-deprivation, fever, intoxication, stress… I would hazard to guess that the first and last are most applicable in Virgil’s case.”

“Yeesh,” Roman sighed. “He’s probably wound tighter than a rubber band.”

“Although,” Logan butted in, “the actions carried out during disassociation from NREM sleep are hardly random. The person experiencing the phenomena typically influences how they act through the subconscious. While this case seems to be fairly minor, it’s likely Virgil is holding onto you because his subconscious is aware that it’s preventing him from falling to the floor.”

“Really? I’ll admit, this is one of your better lectures. Props.”

“Well, most people do tend to be at least somewhat intrigued by psychology. It is one of the most applicable studies out there. However, there are still a number of ways this particular instance could have been instigated. In addition to keeping himself suspended, there remains the chance that Virgil is simply dreaming about gripping something. There also lies the possibility that his subconscious finds comfort in the action of holding-”

“Hey. We’re here. Grab your key, would you? My arms are full.”

“Don’t ask me to explain something and interrupt,” Logan chided, sighing and reaching into his pocket. He unlocked the door and eased it open, stepping through and holding it for Roman as he carried Virgil into the commonspace. As Logan eased it shut, he spotted light peeking out from under the bathroom door.

“It seems Patton is still getting ready for bed,” he deduced, walking to Roman and Virgil’s room to hold the door open for them as well.

“Great,” Roman whispered. “We wouldn’t want him accidentally yelling Emo Nightmare awake.”

“You know fully well that Patton is more astute than that,” Logan argued. “Though I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to limit the possibility.”

“Uh-huh,” Roman sighed, stepping into the southmost bedroom. A short second after, he suddenly paused. Logan cocked an eyebrow in confusion as Roman turned around to face him, Virgil still sleeping on his back like a baby koala.

“...He figured it out.”

“What? That Patton and I are together?”

“I just wanted to set the record straight… -er than I am.” Roman chuckled a bit as Logan sighed. The caramel-haired man wasn’t nearly as bad as his boyfriend at making puns, but he rarely passed up a sexuality-based gag. “But seriously, I didn’t tell him myself. He just put two and two together. But he seemed fine with it, as far as I could tell, and-”

“Roman.”

“Uh…”

“As strange as it is to say, I trust your judgement. Even so, I suppose I should thank you for your attempts at helping us tonight. It bears significant meaning.” As he said this, Logan’s mouth formed into one of his rare, small smiles. “Perhaps you were correct in that we needed more time to ourselves than I had considered.”

“Any time, Specs,” Roman replied, smiling back himself. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: aiding the royal court is a prince’s greatest honor. I’m proud to fight alongside you both till my final breath.”

“What did we say about the persona?”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t need to use it around either of you. You get my point, though.”

“Of course,” Logan confirmed. “I’m glad to have you as a friend as well, Roman.”

“Anyway,” Roman yawned, “Emo’s pretty heavy for a scrawny guy. Off to the resting chamber with him.”

“Good night, Roman.”

“Sweet dreams,” Roman replied with another yawn. “Tell Padre I said so too.”

“I will.” Logan slowly began easing the door shut behind his friend. “Remember to set an alarm.”

“I said _sweet dreams,_ Book Germ.”

As the door shut behind him, Roman slowly sat on Virgil’s bed and lowered the smaller man onto the mattress. He pulled the blankets out from under his roommate and draped them back over, tucking him in for the night. Virgil wriggled a bit and rolled onto his side as soon as he was under, which Roman found surprisingly endearing.

Pulling his shirt off and turning out the lights, Roman climbed into his own bed and began his own descent into dreamland. Still, as he began to nod off, there was something itching at the back of his mind. Something about what Virgil had said earlier while still awake. As the memory started forming in Roman’s mind, his state of consciousness consistently drifted away.

_What was that about “not being a hypocrite…?”_

He didn’t have time to contemplate further before reality scattered away for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to wait until I actually started college to start this so I'd have an adequate reference for how things work. Plus I had to go without a computer for a bit. But the babies have returned even fluffier than before!


	5. Purple in the Rain

The light melody of rain and a rapid series of clicks echoed through the room as Roman typed away on his laptop. His fingers flew gracefully across the keyboard as word after word was entered into the Google Doc, translating his thoughts to the screen as they fought their way out of his mind.

He’d been writing for around three hours so far with no plans of stopping until he at least finished the segment. While many would assume that a social butterfly such as Roman would be disappointed to be trapped inside by rain over the weekend, they couldn’t be more wrong. Though the discouragement from heading out and about did still disappoint him, it was when the rain beckoned that he had no choice but to work on one of his several passion projects, an opportunity in which he relished when it arrived.

Pausing every so often to take a sip from the mug placed beside him, Roman powered through the dialogue with the determination of a charging boar. Thanks to the sound of the rain and the focus boost provided by his vanilla-spice tea, he had officially entered the Zone. As the others were well aware, removing him from his creative trance was easier said than done. He’d nearly missed an entire fire drill once from being too engrossed in his work to hear the alarm blaring through the halls. Once he’d entered this state, nothing could break him out.

Except an empty mug, of course.

Could Roman still work without his favorite tea? Of course. Did that stop him from finding a suitable-enough pausing point and getting up to refill? Of course not. After all, the vanilla-spice flavor was known primarily for its ability to boost concentration. And the more focused Roman was on his writing, the more he could get done, and the closer he was to being able to share his ideas with the world.

After writing another paragraph of text, Roman made his move. He flipped the screen down and grabbed his Broadway poster-collage mug from the desk, checking to make sure his room key was still in his pocket before heading toward the dorm hallway. Logan had questioned his habit of obtaining water from the drinking fountain by the elevator rather than using the sink instead, but the last time he tried to do so, it gave his beverage a peculiar aftertaste that would be much easier to work without.

As the pretty-boy entered the commonspace, he heard the rattling of the front lock as someone attempted to open it. The door to the hall swung open, and in sloshed his mysterious loner of a roommate. Or at least, someone resembling what he presumed Virgil would look like if he fell in a pool with all his clothes on.

“Oh, dear lord,” Roman sighed. “Are you seriously deranged enough to go out in these conditions without an umbrella? And here I thought it was impossible for you to look even more emo than you already did.”

“I had work,” Virgil grumbled, pulling his soaked hoodie off his torso and pushing his drenched purple bangs out of his eyes. “And I don’t own a freaking umbrella. Those things are just lightning rods waiting to happen. Face it, the only reason Mary Poppins never got electrocuted flying around on that thing is plot armor and magic.”

“Is there no end to your paranoia?” Roman folded his arms in disapproval. “Even if you aren’t perfectly perfect in every way, that’s no excuse for turning into a human puddle. You’re lucky the others are out or they’d never let you hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” sighed the drenched man as he walked past Roman to dig through his dresser for a dry change of clothes. He pulled out a new set of everything and dug through his pockets for the items he kept inside. “Least my wallet didn’t get soaked. Wasn’t that bad out anyway…”

He stuffed the items into the pockets of his new black skinny jeans and carried the outfit into the bathroom. To say his return to dry clothes was a relief would be an understatement. As much as he enjoyed walking in the rain, Virgil retained an entirely reasonable distaste for wearing sopping wet clothing. Especially with how absorbent his particular preferences tended to be.

Once his outfit was taken care of, he plugged in his hair-dryer and attempted to at least make his scalp manageable again. Much like his clothing, his hair was particularly pesky in its water-retention capabilities. He remembered being told his hair was apparently softer than most and could only assume the traits were correlated. As he continued blasting it with the dryer, he let out a disappointed groan upon recalling the person who told him about his hair’s softness in the first place, lightly punching himself in the forehead and attempting to think about anything else.

_Dammit. Why does my idiot brain keep doing this?_

After a solid ten minutes, Virgil’s hair was finally dried a sufficient amount. Picking his discarded clothing off the floor and holding it away from him as not to transfer the water to his current, nearly identical outfit, he stepped out of the bathroom and headed to deposit the wearable sponges in his hamper.

As he finished dumping the clothing in the receptacle under his bed, he turned around and nearly bumped into Roman, who had somehow snuck up behind him. The taller man stumbled backward a bit, just barely stabilizing the mugs in his hands.

“Hey!” he yelped. “Watch where you’re going! If I hadn’t caught myself I could’ve-!”

“Spilled the tea, sis?” Virgil snorted. A split second later, he processed what he’d just said on reflex and slapped his hand over his mouth. Roman just stood dumbfounded, the corner of his mouth quirking up into an amused grin.

“Oh my god,” he chuckled, “I knew you were an edgelord, but a _meme_ lord on top of that? This is just priceless.” Virgil’s cheeks turned beet red as he quickly flipped his hood over his head and deepened his slouch, sitting on the edge of his mattress and doing his best to hide his tomato-face from Roman.

He wasn’t overly upset about revealing his passable knowledge of the internet’s inside-jokes. They were pretty much just common culture nowadays. But of McFreaking course Roman had to have such an adorable laugh. Virgil had heard him laugh before, of course, but there was something different about this one. It wasn’t boisterous like before. It was more subtle. More genuine. Warmer. And, unfortunately, entirely capable of punching him straight in the beaten-down feels and lighting his face up like a goddamn space heater.

“Hey. Rise and shine, Hermit the Frog.” As the purple-haired man confusedly peeked out from the dark recesses of his hoodie, he spotted Roman place one of the mugs in his hand on top of Virgil’s dresser. “I was generous enough to whip up an elixir for you, so you may as well drink it before it freezes over.” Virgil flipped his hood back down and gave the mug a confused side-eye.

“...You made me a drink?” he questioned, kneeling on the bed and peering over the top of the mug. He cautiously sniffed the greenish-yellow liquid inside, reminding Roman of a timid puppy meeting a new person for the first time. A faint wisp of steam wafted from the surface, emanating a gentle warmth that tickled the tip of his nose.

“I wasn’t sure how fond you are of tea,” Roman mused, sitting back at his laptop, “but I wanted to make sure you succeed in warming yourself after your unfavorable quest through the downpour. I’m willing to bear with you for Patton and Logan’s sake, but I’m not sleeping in the same room as you if you get sick and start germing up the place.”

“How thoughtful,” Virgil deadpanned, picking the mug off the dresser and sitting back down. A tiny voice at the back of his mind tried to talk him out of drinking it before he was absolutely certain it wasn’t poisoned in some convoluted scheme to murder him so Roman would get the room to himself. After a few seconds of mulling it over, he deduced that even Roman probably wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill him in such a manner that would leave him as such an obvious suspect. And so, after sniffing it a couple more times to make sure nothing seemed off, he hazarded a sip. He waited a bit more, and when no apparent negative effects had developed, he took a slightly larger sip.

“...Not bad, I guess,” he muttered. Admittedly, this was an understatement. The tea was surprisingly good. It left him with a cozy feeling that permeated his chest, like a fluffy hoodie for his organs. He found himself smiling a bit as he took another sip of the liquid, feeling his anxiety seemingly fade away to a much smaller level.

“It’s chamomile tea with a touch of cinnamon,” Roman explained, taking a sip of his own drink. “Even an idiot could tell you’ve been wound tighter than a glass slipper on the wrong sister. The chamomile’s supposed to help out by soothing your nerves. I added the cinnamon because you’re clearly the type to lie about preferring your drinks without anything mixed in. Helps your heart and makes it sweeter without messing up the flavor. And I stopped putting milk in mine since I learned it apparently cancels out the physical health benefits, so I left it out of yours too.”

Virgil just stared dumbfounded at Roman’s back as he typed away at his project. He was almost certain the tea was all that was stopping him from being unsettled by how spot-on Roman’s analysis was. Was he _that_ transparent or was his roommate just deceptively good at reading people?

Either way, it only served to bolster Virgil’s unfamiliar level of comfort. He hadn’t felt nearly this relaxed in years, making the difference even more staggering. Especially with the day he’d been having before now.

“...Thanks.”

“Hmm?” Roman turned in his chair to face his roommate, unsure if he heard him correctly the first time.

“I said thanks,” Virgil repeated. “I… may have needed this more than I thought I did.”

“No duh,” Roman sighed. “I may know next to nothing about you when compared to the others, but you aren’t exactly subtle about this stuff. Besides, I was refilling my own anyway so it’s not like it was out of my way.”

“The one time you don’t jump on a compliment,” Virgil snickered, staring down into his half-empty mug with a subtle smile on his face. He paused a bit, sighing reluctantly as his unfettered sense of guilty obligation glared over him, refusing to give him the choice to ignore its demands.

“I… _guess_ I should probably apologize while I’m at it.” Roman cocked an eyebrow as Virgil groaned into his beverage, unable to look him in the eye as he begrudgingly attempted to verbalize his thoughts. “For jumping to conclusions about you or whatever. Maybe you aren’t as big of a douche as I thought you were. You’re…” He trailed off and sighed again. “You’re actually a pretty decent friend. Not that I have much to go on in that department, but I can’t exactly lump you in with the garbage majority of people. So… congrats, I guess.”

“Oh…” Roman wasn’t entirely sure what to think in that moment. This was the only time he’d really seen Virgil be so open since the icebreaker game. It wasn’t exactly the highest bar to hurdle, but considering Virgil was even more emotionally closed-off than Logan was currently, it said more than most would hear at first.

“Thank you. Virgil,” he mumbled, still a bit off-guard from the unexpected approval of his character of all things. “I… suppose I should apologize as well. In spite of my incomparable kindness and charm, I admit I may be responsible for causing you to think me as such in the first place. And somewhat guilty of the same profiling myself. Maybe you aren’t so unbearable yourself either.”

“So… truce? I guess?”

“I suppose a cease-fire is most certainly in order.”

Virgil found his contained smile returning once again, peeking up and turning his head a bit more towards Roman. “Cool.”

“Cool indeed,” the pretty-boy parroted, his own face forming the more organic smile from a few days ago. As if amplifying the effects of his tea, Virgil felt his sense of comfort and security spreading throughout his torso, completely chasing the lingering cold of the rain from his system. For once, any and all of the shrill voices in his head were silent. It was so unfamiliar to him, yet in a positive way.

“So…” Virgil muttered, his courage slightly picking up as he yet again decided to ignore his _no prying_ rule. “What are you writing? Looks kinda long.”

“Oh, this?” Roman responded, his enthusiasm returning at the chance to talk about his latest project. “It’s one of my newest masterworks! It’s an intriguing tale of a man who summons manifestations of his personality to…”

As Roman described the story in vivid detail, Virgil found himself sucked into the creative whimsy once again. As he sipped his tea and listened to the patter of rain on the window accompanying his crush’s excited ramblings, all the seemingly undefeatable fear and pressure that he carried dissolved from within him. One week ago, if someone suggested Virgil spend the afternoon after a taxing day at work listening to Roman spouting word after word in his face, he would’ve visibly shuddered at the thought.

But in that moment, Virgil realized that he couldn’t think of a single place on this stupid planet he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat? Two chapters in one week? How DOES he do it? (The answer is being a neglectful li'l dumbass and staying up until 4:30 in the effing morning to finish. Don't be like Zor, kids.)
> 
> But yeah. Short, fluffy Prinxiety is just plain fun to write. I think this is the shortest chapter I've written so far, actually. That may have contributed to how quickly I finished it even WITH stupidly depriving myself of sleep lol
> 
> Anywho, enjoy the fluff and apparent conflict resolution! Next chapter's probably gonna be one of the longer ones so far, so don't expect it to come out in two days again. No matter how much I ignore them, I still have limits. And class. And a touch of ADD. (Where was I? ...Oh! Right. I love play rehearsal- wait no, that wasn't it.)
> 
> Remember, everyone! Take care of yourself or Logan will be disappointed in you. Learn from my mistakes, children. And have an excellent day! ^^


	6. No Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil has started growing used to his new friendship with his roommates. Everything seems to be going abnormally well, until a familiar face shows up at the Halloween store...
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING!!!**  
>  The following chapter contains detailed depictions of a panic attack, self-doubt/loathing, and slightly stronger profanity than usual!  
> Try to skip over that if it bothers you!

As time went on, Virgil found himself growing more and more accustomed to his new life at school. Much like high school, he was still just another face in the crowd, tending not to converse with his classmates unless absolutely necessary. Just as he preferred it.

Back in high school, however, there was still a slight issue with this manner of living: the sense of crippling loneliness that came alongside it. In spite of Virgil’s undeniable misanthropy, he found it hard to bury his wish to not be completely alone. Avoiding everyone was easier than dealing with the idiotic masses. But, due to humankind’s nature as social creatures, even Virgil managed to discover the limits to his self-isolation. He had no interest in pursuing a high quantity of relationships with his peers, but lacking those rooted in quality, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, had left him with an unmistakable feeling of hollowness.

As time had gone by, day after day, it felt as if the loneliness was eating away at him, slowly dissolving a central piece of his soul. He hated it. He absolutely _loathed_ it. And even while he’d stowed himself away in the corner for so long that even _he_ couldn’t remember, telling himself over and over in his head that he was better off on his own…

...He couldn’t help but cling to the hope of finding someone better. Someone who understood what he was going through when no one else would. Someone who he found consistently tolerable when no one else was worth being around for more than half a nanosecond.

Someone who he felt safe around in any sense of the word.

And, by what seemed like an absolute miracle, he finally seemed to have found it. In not just one, but three people.

About a month had passed since the school year’s beginning and, to Virgil’s surprise, it was the happiest he’d been in far too long. The routine was fairly simple: go to the day’s classes, do the homework when he could, eat an appropriate amount of meals everyday, sleep, head downtown to the Halloween store for work, etc. Aside from the more open schedule than in years prior, there was really only one difference that made life so much more enjoyable. And that was his newfound friends.

While his more introverted lifestyle stayed mostly consistent, Virgil found himself regularly making exceptions to what would otherwise be “designated hermit time” to spend time with his roommates. He’d eat lunch with any of the three he encountered in the dining hall. He attended their Sunday evening study sessions in the library (which they narrowly avoided getting kicked out of for noise complaints once or twice). He assisted Patton in making snacks before joining their group viewing of the _Steven Universe_ movie when it came out. He even found himself just observing or joining their frequent, nonsensical arguments whenever one came up. Before he knew it, hanging out with the three of them had become one of the cornerstones of his daily routine.

Little by little, Virgil felt himself starting to continuously lower his guard around the others. The idea of accidentally causing them to hate him seemed to grow further from sight each day, as did his habit of building emotional walls and trying to keep the others at a distance. He was still far from ready to voice his deeper issues and insecurities. After all, he could barely reflect on those with just himself. But his sense of comfort around them had formed cracks in the defensive mask he donned, allowing his true personality to slip through more often than not. His snark rarely contained any actual venom anymore, replaced by remarks that were more in the spirit of playful jabs and banter which, surprisingly enough, became naturally ingrained in the group’s dynamic.

It was a funny thing, realizing they actually cared about him. Even when the voices in his head whispered that he’d never compare to the bond they already had with each other, even when the idea that they were only pretending to be friends with him out of pity manifested, Virgil somehow found himself just… not listening. Even though the possibility was there, he couldn’t envision it truly coming to be like he always would when his brain suggested the worst-case scenario. They had no obligation to care how he was doing. They had no foreseeable ulterior motives either. Their friendship was the real thing. And the same was true for his own.

In somewhat of a surprise to everyone, while his relationship with all his suitemates had changed for the better over the past month, it was clear that the most significant improvement rested in his bond with Roman. Their tendency to quarrel and jab at each other was far from over, but since their ceasefire it had turned into more of a game than anything. They shot taunt after nickname after flirtatious snark back and forth on an almost daily basis, competing to catch the other off-guard or elicit a chuckle. In fact, it wasn’t long before Virgil had unofficially replaced Logan as Roman’s primary verbal sparring partner.

The wake of the ceasefire also led to more moments like the one that prompted it in the first place. Whenever the two found themselves working in the same place, Roman always managed to strike up a light conversation between them. Ordinarily, Virgil loathed being distracted while he was trying to focus. But this seemed different. Listening to Roman’s fanciful ramblings somehow made him feel more motivated and calm. How he managed to multitask so well in these instances, Virgil had no idea, but it was far from unwelcome.

Whenever Roman reached a decent pausing point in whatever project he was writing, he started regularly turning to Virgil for feedback as the “person who happened to be sitting near him at the time.” Virgil had to admit, his work was rather impressive. In spite of the contents rarely falling under his preferred genres, the purple-haired man found himself unexpectedly invested in the stories and songs that Roman would stay up typing every night. Though his response was usually in the form of constructive criticism rather than outright praise, Virgil couldn’t help but envy his roommate’s undeniable creative talent.

As they grew closer, he started discovering even more intriguing details of his crush each day. Like how surprisingly cute his grumpy face looked while he was tired, a face he’d seen every so often when the anxious roommate’s alarm woke him up first instead on days Virgil had Intro to Illustration at 8 in the morning. Or the fact that his fingers seemed to be in constant motion at any given time, whether it was twirling a pen between them as he paused while scribbling something down or tapping along with an unheard rhythm on whatever was there to be tapped on. He also, surprisingly enough, realized just how observant and meticulous Roman could be when it came to certain things: particularly striking examples being his knowledge of tea and the seemingly painstaking level of depth he crafted into his creative projects.

But the most interesting observations Virgil made had arisen when Roman took a break from his typical “Prince Charming” bit. When he started acting more like a regular human instead of one who was… well, _acting_. His embellished expressions grew less over-the-top, softening his face and general demeanor. He could still be just as emotional as he was in character, but even for as skilled an actor as he, the difference in how he presented it was perfectly visible if you’d grown used to him. Beyond the bravado and cockiness lay something more earnest and gentle than he’d ever expected to find at first glance. Virgil had certainly grown to find his prince persona more amusing than he did from the start, but to say he preferred unfiltered Roman was an understatement.

More often than not, the mask slipped from his face in the presence of Logan or Patton. He seemed noticeably more comfortable with them, reasonably so, considering how well the three knew each other by now. But ever since that not-so-terrible rainy day, Virgil realized that Roman had started breaking character around him as well, even without their other friends’ involvement. It was gradual. Hard to notice at first. But now that he’d spotted the changes, Virgil couldn’t help but feel honored by Roman’s subtle beginnings of a gesture. It left him thinking that if the importance Roman placed on his mask was anything like his own, then he knew exactly how meaningful it was to show glimpses of what lay beyond it.

The train of thought followed Virgil all the way to the Halloween store that Sunday afternoon. It was early October, leaving him particularly prone to his thoughts. The store had been open for over half the season now, yet there were still regular spans of time without any customers to tend to and clean up after, aside from a few other enthusiasts for the holiday and the occasional bored teenager looking around the place.

As Virgil patrolled the floor, ensuring everything was in its intended place, he found his mind frequently conjuring thoughts of Roman. He occasionally couldn’t resist slightly smiling at some of the better ones and getting caught mid-grin by the assistant manager a handful of times. The two weren’t the greatest of friends, a status not helped by the other man’s fairly irresponsible nature, but even he could figure out when Virgil was trying to hide an unprompted smile. But somehow, Virgil didn’t seem to care too much if that smug, sunglasses-wearing tool shot that stupid smirk at him or insisted he “spill the tea, gurl.” For the first time he could remember, he was too content to care.

He hung the Jeff the Killer mask back on the shelf with a faint grin as he imagined himself scaring the crap out of Roman with it. The otherwise annoying fact that he’d just pulled the exact same mask out of the bottom of a barrel of plastic scythes that it _clearly_ didn’t belong in for the eleventh time since the store first opened hardly even registered. The general stupidity or jerkishness of the world didn’t reach him in his cocoon of rare happiness. And as far as he was concerned, nothing would be able to manage-

“Well, hello there, complete stranger~”

And then, it broke.

At the utterance of a single sentence, the shroud of comfort enveloping Virgil burst into thin air, vanishing in-time with the feeling of his internal organs completely inverting within his chest cavity. His breath hitched and his teeth clenched, the world around him seemingly going silent for a few instants before the store’s mind-numbing playlist began to register to his senses again.

And as his senses began to reset, the terror that once overpowered them lessened, a different emotion absorbing it into its own reserves: anger.

His teeth still clenched and his hands gripped into gnarled fists, Virgil whipped his head toward the ominous, sing-songy voice behind him. He knew exactly who it was. He’d always know _exactly_ who that wretched cadence belonged to. No one mistakes the voice that torments them in their darkest hours.

For a second or two, he remained silent. He let the state of his face do the talking for him, channeling whatever inner bloodlust he had in an attempt to viciously glare into the potentially nonexistent soul of the unwanted interruption to his sanity. The voice’s origin simply smirked back, unaffected by the taller man’s projection of murderous intent. And as he slyly observed, Virgil took in the image he’d been trying to block out of his subconscious for the past several months.

A short, trench coat-clad man, with a black and yellow beanie, and a large burn scar on one side of his face.

“Hi! Hello!” He snapped viciously. “Can I interest you in our store’s special deal where you get the hell out before I test this medieval weaponry display on you?”

“My, such _fantastic_ customer service,” chuckled the smug man, rolling his heterochromatic eyes. “I’m not the slightest bit upset.”

“Why. Are. You. Here?” Virgil snarled, standing up as straight as he possibly could to add height to his intimidation factor.

“Whatever do you mean?” inquired the man in a tone of clearly faux offense. “Surely one could deduce that I’m here buying movie tickets…”

“Cut the bullshit, _Deceit_ ,” he growled. “I know damn well you’re supposed to be in an entirely different state right now!”

“Funny thing, really. School burned down. Flaming tornado and all that. So I figured, why not check out a random Halloween store? Threw some darts at a map and here we are.” Were it not for the hybrid cauldron of emotional terror and vindictive rage swirling around behind his ribcage, Virgil probably would’ve rolled his eyes. Deceit’s obvious pathological lies got old _real_ quick, but at the moment, he was too agitated by his presence to focus on the specifics of the unwarranted invasion.

“Allow me to repeat my first offer,” he snarled. “Get. The hell. Out. NOW.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” The shorter man tugged at the wrist of his right glove as he took a pace to his left. “Honestly, Virgil, what harm is there in saying hi to an old friend every now and again?”

“Hmm! Good question! Gee, lemme think,” the purple-haired man snarked. “Oh yeah! Because you’re a manipulative little scumbag who’s lucky I haven’t bitch-slapped him with a restraining order the size of a CVS receipt! Get out.”

“Virgil, I’m not in pre-law,” Deceit sighed. “I obviously don’t know it’s completely affordable for you to obtain one.” Trying to push past the mind-numbingly pointless triple-fib, Virgil slammed his hand down on the rim of the scythe barrel and tried to somehow glare even harder. “Don’t be careful now. You totally won’t burst a blood vessel in your eye like that…”

“Oh my effing Cipher!” Virgil exclaimed. “Will you just quit tormenting me and leave already?!” For crap’s sake, where the hell was that assrag of an assistant manager? Even if Virgil was currently in the back area of the sales floor, there’s no way he couldn’t hear all this racket from the counter. Not like the assemblable changing rooms between them were soundproof or anything.

“Now, now, Virgil, there’s no need to make such a fuss,” Deceit chided in an exasperated tone. “I’m not just checking in on someone I care about, after all. It’s totally a big deal.”

Virgil just stood in shock, his right eye involuntarily twitching once beneath his bangs. He remained totally silent, with nothing but the obnoxious lyrics of _Nightmare on My Street_ resounding throughout the store. He took a bit to process the utter gall of Deceit’s “admission.” And as his understanding began to form, his teeth began to clench once again, even harder than before.

“‘Checking in…?’ ‘CHECKING _IN?!_ ” A faint squealing noise sputtered from the scythe barrel as Virgil clenched his fingers around the outer rim, drawing them towards his palm along the sides of the metal drum. “After everything you did to me... Everything you did to fuel the flames of the dumpster fire in my brain…! You just track me down and show up, unannounced, where I’m working nearly four states away from where you’re _supposed_ to be?! Just for the sake of ‘checking IN?!’”

Deceit just watched, arms folded, with an unamused look on his face as Virgil’s protest drew to a close. The taller man took a couple deep breaths, feeling winded from his mild explosion, as Deceit seemed to ponder what he’d been told, replying with a “straight-forward” response.

“...No.”

Virgil took a deep breath and sharply exhaled through his nose. The general insufferability of the conversation was past its limit.

“Unbe-effing-lievable,” he growled. His outward rage was slightly lowered from the deep breathing, but his nerves and fight-or-flight instinct were still going just as strong as before, devoting his redirected anger toward the effort to concoct an escape plan.

If he darted through the curtain behind him into the storage area, he could easily escape through the back door. He was always a decent runner. But using the back door unsupervised was against the company’s crazy-strict loss prevention policy and who knows how much hot water he’d be in for breaking it. He could flee to the back area and stow himself in the employee bathroom, but Deceit could just follow him in there. Even if it was technically a staff-only area, it wasn’t like the store had any security footage for him to end up on, considering the building was just an abandoned _Planet Fitness_ the company rented every season. Forcibly remove him? He could easily be framed for battery and get the company in the same bind by association. Stand there and listen to Deceit continue to spill some pretentious monologue peppered with randomly false statements? Like hell he would. The two-faced prick was obviously trying to manipulate or toy with him one way or another. As fast as his mind raced, Virgil found himself making no progress in determining an actually useful solution.

“Well, if you want ‘unbelievable,’” Deceit sighed, “then it’s totally not offensive that you’d just up and refuse to call me by my real name after all our time together.”

“Maybe stop throwing some halfassed attempt at a lie into every damn sentence and I’d at least consider it!”

“You don’t know I can totally do that. Besides, I doubt your new flame is much better, now is he?”

“No shit he’s better!” Virgil barks. “At least _he_ respects me enough to-!”

Suddenly, Deceit’s eyebrows quirked upward. As soon as Virgil registered the other man’s first notable reaction to anything in this argument, he realized what he’d just said. He slapped his hands over his mouth, trying to stop himself from spewing anything further, but it was too late.

Because now Deceit knew Virgil had a new interest in someone.

That must be why he came here.

And Virgil had just unthinkingly played right into his hands.

For a moment, there was more silence. The scrambled mess of thoughts and internal screaming rattling around in Virgil’s head continued to drown out whatever tacky 90’s Halloween carole was playing over the sound system. The voices rose into a grand crescendo he’d gone so blissfully, relatively long without experiencing since the year started. His external panic hadn’t risen above “recognizable fright” level, but the more the voices bounced around in his mind, the closer he came to hyperventilating right then and there.

What would Deceit even do? Would he try to figure out who it was? Would he go out of his way to destroy the competition? Would he try to destroy any chance Virgil had with him or anyone else? Would he do the unthinkable and actually take it as a sign to move on? So many possibilities were running through Virgil’s head, most of them bad, some of them almost _definitely_ irrational. But irrationality didn’t matter when the volume became this loud. His sense of logic was completely inaudible in contrast to the deafening fear and negativity reverberating through his mind with jarring force. The only outside noise registering was the faint sound of Deceit calling his name.

And then he ran.

He stumbled at first, his hyperventilation making it hard to keep steady, nearly knocking over the half-wall of foam katanas beside him as he attempted to avoid slamming into it. The curtain to the back area was right there. He shoved through it and took a sharp right, keeping himself on his feet by shoving off the floor after nearly falling on his face, still not breaking his momentum as he fled toward the employee bathroom with the hope that his legs wouldn’t give out before he could reach it. He knew the stalls were a far-from-perfect barricade, but Virgil didn’t care at this point. He just needed to get away and hide until the stupid voices shut up.

Flinging open the middle stall door, he skidded inside and slammed it shut behind him, fumbling with the lock until he clasped it shut. Once ensuring the door was shut, he sat on the seat of the toilet behind him and curled up, clinging to his legs with all of his strength in an effort to ground himself, only letting go with one hand to flip his hood defensively over his head. The hyper-focused adrenaline died down, leaving only the voices screaming in fear and anger directly into his ears.

And without his fight-or-flight response in control, the floodgates cracked from the pressure, sending panicked tears streaming down his cheeks as he choked out sobs between each ragged, gasping breath his body forced him to take. He tried to steady himself enough to attempt the soothing breathing exercises he’d learned, but his control seemed reduced to basic motor functions in this state. And so he sat there, curled up in complete silence if naught for the sounds of hyperventilation and the swarm of voices yelling within his head.

_**It’s all gonna go to shit now.** _

_shut up…_

_**He’s going to destroy everything.** _

_just stop it…_

_**It’s all your fault, you dumbass.** _

_please just stop…!_

_**Everything you’ve lucked your way into is doomed.** _

_no… it isn’t-_

_**You got greedy. You clung to what you didn’t deserve, and now the universe has corrected itself. You’ll be alone again.** _

_I…_ “(sniff)… oh god… I-I’ll be alone again…”

_**You’ve always been alone. You always will be.** _

“I’ll… always (hic) be alone…!”

_**Your own mistakes are responsible for the problems that arise.** _

“I-It’s all my f-fault…!”

_**This is what happens when you entertain false hope. All that will wait for you is HARSHER DESPA-** _

That was as far as they got before the sound of rapid knocking at the stall door sent everything screeching to an abrupt halt.

The sudden noise startled Virgil into flinching, squeezing his already trembling legs even tighter into his chest. The bathroom rematerialized and he became increasingly aware of the world surrounding him. That he was still in the Halloween store. That he was curled up in a toilet stall, mid-panic attack. And that someone was on the other side of the stall door.

His breathing halted. Fight-or-flight retook total control and shocked him into total silence. Did _he_ follow him in here? It didn’t take long after the knocking began for the person responsible to pipe up and indirectly answer his question.

“Yo, e-boy, ‘zat you?” called the familiarly campy voice of the assistant manager. “You good, hon? Actually, ya know, don’t answer that. You are totes not fine if my ears still work.”

No... No-no-no-no! Why did that guy have to come find him now?! Yeah, he was probably better than Deceit, but there was no way Virgil was even remotely comfortable having a panic attack around this guy! Especially while he was still on the freaking clock! He’d never hear the end of this… This guy’d totally make fun of him every chance he got… He’d have to go to a different store… Or get a new job entirely… He’d have to go through the whole _application process_ again…! He’d have to spend another six months sending resumes and hunting for hours and _talking_ to _authority figures_ about _himself_ and-!

“Aw crap. Hey, kid! ‘M sorry about that,” sighed the assistant manager, a somewhat guilty tone in his voice that Virgil nearly missed over his spiral. “Not exactly the best at this stuff, but… I dunno, just try ta hang in there for a hot sec, ‘kay? My BF’s s’pposed to stop by around now. I still gotta watch the floor and he defo knows how to handle this better. For now just, like, take deep breaths or some shit, I guess? I really dee kay…”

And with that, he quickly left. Peeking over his knees, Virgil watched the man’s black converse hurry towards the door, each step uncomfortably audible as he grew further away and the sounds faded out the door, leaving his mind to its own devices once more.

Hard as he tried, the voices persisted in their efforts to jab away at him. He took advantage of his more controllable breathing to once again attempt soothing himself through breathing techniques. He inhaled sharply for four seconds, held it for seven seconds, and finally exhaled for eight seconds. He’d managed to break out of the self-loathing spiral but the fear of the consequences to his mistakes that awaited him was far from dispelled.

No matter how hard he tried, distracting himself from the ideas of what Deceit would end up doing seemed utterly impossible. As idiotic as his compulsive lying made him seem, Virgil still knew fully well how smart he actually was, especially when he had a goal in mind. He was a veritable mastermind when it came to manipulation and data-gathering. And as one of the few people who’d seen Virgil without his emotional walls, the information he already possessed was incredibly dangerous.

Clamping his eyes shut and firmly pressing his face into his knees, Virgil tried to weather the swirling maelstrom of dread that flooded the stall around him as he laboriously continued his breathing techniques to keep the hyperventilation at bay. He felt his tears bleeding through the fabric of his jeans as the slightly damp spots pressed against his legs. He quickly moved one hand to grab a piece of toilet paper and wipe the snot dripping from his runny nose before it could soak into his pants as well, quickly dropping it into the bowl beneath him and returning his arm to its death-grip.

_Hold on until it’s over,_ he repeated in his head through the incessant chattering of the rest of his thoughts, _just hold on until it’s over. It’s just a feeling. It’ll die down just like it always does. Just wait until it goes away..._

Virgil knew from experience that his current state showed no signs of being near its end. It was more manageable than before, sure, but only in the sense that he retained any level of control over himself whatsoever. After all, the problem still viciously persisted and he clearly had yet to regain enough control over his emotions to accept it. As he mentally cursed himself for allowing enough attachment to reach this point, a series of knocks sounded from the stall door once again, this time more rhythmically than the first.

Virgil flinched at the noise, his already rapid heartbeat jolting as he quickly peeked over his knees and restrained his breathing. The assistant manager’s black canvas shoes were visible under the door once again, this time, with a pair of brown loafers just behind him.

“Yo, ‘s me again!” he called through the door. “My hot piece of ass showed up n’ he’s here to help so feel free to come out, m’kay, sweetie?”

“Uh, Rem,” a concerned-sounding voice murmured at a volume just barely audible enough for Virgil to hear in his silent state, “I’m glad you’re tryin’ ta help, but maybe I should take it from here…”

“Yeah, fiiine, you right. Work your magic, babes. I’mma head back out, but I demand you lemme know if he’s good again!”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality, hon! Remember?”

“Ugh fine! I’ll ask ‘im myself then! Ciao!”

_Goddammit no!_ Virgil thought to himself as the converse exited the room once more and he reburied his face in his knees. _Why are these morons here right now?! Go! Away! How did they find me in the first place?! Was I being that loud?! Is Deceit still out there?! They’re gonna make fun of me! I don’t need them here! Why is everything-?!_

And then, a gentle knocking came from the door.

“Excuse me,” called the new, gentler voice from earlier, “do you mind if I come in?”

“P-please just-(hic)... go away…” Virgil managed to sputter out, his voice muffled against his knees. “I don’t n-need help right now…”

“Aw buddy,” the loafers sighed sympathetically, “I know it feels easier to face things alone. But take it from the mighty Jim Lake Jr: you don’t have to brave the Darklands by yourself. I’m here to help as best I can, but I can’t do it as effectively if you seal Killahead Bridge behind you, okay?”

Virgil opened one eye and peeked back at the door in genuine befuddlement. “What-(sniff) the hell…? A-are you seriously referencing _Trollhunters_ right now...?”

“I find cartoon references help me articulate concepts more easily,” the other man’s voice answered. “It also seems to have established common ground and serves as a pleasant distraction if need be. But seein’ as you got the reference, maybe you understand my point just a little…?”

As much as he didn’t want to, Virgil had to admit he knew what the guy was talking about and that it actually was working as a half-decent distraction from the swarm. He was frankly more surprised that this person had happened to watch Trollhunters and paid enough attention to apply it in this exact situation so well, but enough of the mental torrent remained to keep him from pursuing that train of thought any further.

“...guess so…”

“That’s perfect, bud,” the calming voice replied. “While you’re cookin’ up that Brain Blast for a bit, I’m just gonna lead you through a quick grounding technique, okie-dokie?”

“...f-fine… I-(hic) guess…”

“Perfect. Now,” the voice began, “would you kindly list five things you can see?” Virgil stayed silent for a bit. “One quick suggestion,” the other man gently chimed in, “you don’t have to, but it helps to review them out-loud.” A few more seconds of silence passed.

“...fine,” Virgil caved. “S-stall door… toilet-(hic) paper… my knees… bangs… your (sniff) shoes.”

“There you go,” they encouraged. “Now, please list four things you can feel.”

“Knees again… hoodie sleeves… t-toilet seat through my pants and, uh...” he quickly reached up with one arm, scratching his head nervously. “Hair.”

“Three things you can hear?”

“Uh… your voice… vents… runny nose, I guess?”

“Now two things you can smell.”

“I mean… not much with my (sniff) nose like this…”

“Humor me a li’l.”

With a sigh, Virgil grabbed the side of his hoodie and held it up to his nose, sniffing a bit. “Lingering hoodie smell…” He then dropped it and looked around, sniffing a bit more. “...I guess just general bathroom odor?”

“Almost there. You’re doing great,” the other replied. “Just name one thing you can taste.”

“...Ugh,” Virgil groaned, sticking out his tongue and wiping the back of his finger on it. “The make-up that got washed into my mouth. Gross...”

“There we go. Nice job, buckaroo,” the loafers guy congratulated from beyond the door. “Feeling a bit better?”

Surprisingly enough, it had. He hadn’t fully registered it until then, but the voices had died down to a fairly ignorable background lull. His heart rate slowly decelerated and his breathing had died down to its regular pace. His nose was still a bit runny from before, but it had actually worked. He had gotten through the attack.

“...Maybe…” Virgil sighed. “Thanks for the help, I guess...”

“Glad to hear it! You ready to pop on out of your kingdom of isolation for just a bit? I can’t guarantee perfection, but I promise I know enough to help at least a bit.”

“...Why not ju-(sniff) just peek under the door or something…?” he grumbled back.

“Because I need you to let me in yourself,” the man responded factually, but kindly. “Respectin’ the boundaries you choose to establish is an important practice for any therapist. The more you trust me, the more helpful I can be. So…” Out of the corner of Virgil’s eye, a lone hand slowly peeked under the door, palm up, as if waiting for someone to grab it.

“‘Do you trust me?’”

“...Aladdin.”

“Oooh!” The hand quickly disappeared from sight and a quick bout of excited clapping sounded from outside the stall. “Two for three! I like you already!”

“‘S not that impressive…” Virgil grumbled, wiping the remnants of his left eye’s tears with his sleeve. “And it’s three for three. I got the Frozen one too…”

“Even better! That’s way beyond what most people other than my siblings recognize most of the time,” the man replied. “Ya still never answered my question ya know…”

Cycling through his preferred breathing exercises once again, Virgil slowly lowered his feet to the floor and took advantage of his regained mental control to think through the man’s request. The guy seemed nice enough, especially for someone who was supposedly dating Sunglasses, if he’d actually heard that part correctly. And he didn’t show any signs of judging or planning to harm Virgil, considering how dedicated he was in helping him through his breakdown.

_Dammit…_

Firmly situating his palms against the sides of the stall, Virgil slowly pulled himself back on his feet and stepped toward the door. His hand hesitated for a second over the lock mechanism and, taking one more deep breath, he twisted it open and opened the door a crack, peeking outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BACK!!!
> 
> Sorry this took so long! School got super busy and stressful and it's hard to write such a long, angst-heavy chapter with minimal time and your mental battery getting drained enough as the day goes on (I believe I've mentioned this, but fluff is much easier for me to consistently binge-write). It was particularly rough since I mostly used my own experience to depict Virgil's panic attack, so I'm hoping that turned out well enough. I also tried to make it so Deceit and Virgil's dynamic was both as accurate to their canon characters as possible while still fitting into the story up to this point, since I do actually enjoy Deceit's character a lot, particularly with how complex his motivations are in the original Sanders Sides narrative.
> 
> Don't worry, next chapter's gonna continue the Virgil in the Bathroom bit and almost definitely be less sad and definitely faster since I have a month-ish off. I'm hoping to get that one pounded out by Virgil's birthday in a day or two, but no promises beyond it taking less than three months and three mental-health Shuharu fics to come out this time. I'm mostly just bummed I missed therapy boi's birthday by almost four hours... Ah well.


	7. Enough Stalling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After making it through a panic attack, Virgil meets the interesting individual responsible for helping him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [gently nudges publish date to the 19th] It's still his birthday somewhere in the country right...?

As Virgil slowly inched open the door, he scanned his eyes over the face behind the voice he’d been listening to for the past few minutes. The man was maybe an inch taller than Virgil, his tan hair combed across where his scalp met his forehead as traces of faded pink dye lay visible along the edges. His eyes were a soft shade of pink behind a pair of rounded rectangular glasses that seemed halfway between Logan and Patton’s in terms of shape. He wore a beige cardigan over a white shirt and pink tie, with a pair of faded jeans reaching down to the loafers he’d already familiarized himself with. But the most notable feature was the warm, concerned smile he had on his face as he watched Virgil make his way into the main area of the bathroom.

“And the Great Pumpkin emerges from his patch,” he joked, still carrying a kind tone beneath what Virgil was pretty sure were traces of a Midwestern accent.

“You just don’t stop with those, do you?” Virgil mumbled, folding his arms defensively across his chest and keeping his eyes trained on Pastel Guy as he headed over to the bathroom’s mirror to assess the damage to his make-up.

“I say-I say-I say I do not!” the self-proclaimed therapist declared with a bright smile.

“So you called yourself a therapist,” Virgil started as he turned to his reflection, attempting to keep the subject as far away from himself as possible, “but aren’t you kinda young to be licensed or whatever?” _Great,_ he thought, gazing upon the blatant teartracks dangling from his eye bags. _Now I’m gonna have to wash all my effing eyeshadow off…_

“Well, you’re not wrong,” the other man replied with a somewhat guilty expression. “I can’t actually claim to be licensed yet. I’m still workin’ on my Clinical Psychology degree at Sanders University. But I am at the top of my class and willin’ to offer the highest quality non-professional help I can when people need it!”

This guy was seriously at the top of his class? Virgil had to admit, he wouldn’t have guessed that on his own, but considering how effective his… “methods” were from a first-hand perspective, it wasn’t particularly hard to believe that he was good at what he did.

“Come ta think of it,” the man pondered, “I kinda goofed on my introduction, didn’t I?”

“Oh yeah,” Virgil pondered, splashing water in his face in an attempt to wipe away any evidence of the smudges lining his cheekbones. “Guess you never really told me your name, huh?”

“Well that just won’t do!” The pastel-clad man tilted slightly sideways and stuck his arms out into a jazz-hands motion. “Dun-dah-dah-dun-duh-duh-duuuh! The name’s Emile Picani! Aspiring therapist and devoted cartoon enthusiast!”

Virgil couldn’t help but snort at Emile’s over-the-top introduction. For a moment, it kinda reminded him of something Roman would do. Considering he apparently went to their school, maybe the two had met at some point. Virgil could only imagine how that would turn out…

“But enough about me,” Picani declared, standing straight again and readjusting his tie. “I don’t believe you’ve introduced yourself either, new unofficial patient! Who’s! That! Person?!”

Oh god. The attention was back on Virgil. His least favorite place for it to be. _Come on, brain,_ he thought to himself. _You just had a panic attack in front of this guy! You are NOT telling him your freaking name!_

“...Virgil.”

_Self, you are a clueless moron._

“Whoa! Really?” Picani clasped his hands together with an excited grin on his face. “That’s such a cool name! How can I not think of any cartoon characters named Virgil? You’d think they’d be all over the place!”

“Uh…” Virgil mumbled, slouching a bit more and awkwardly scratching his head. “Yeah, I guess…” It was at that moment that he realized that talking to strangers without his usual barrage of snark was much harder than anticipated. “So, what’s psychology like? Big workload or…?”

“Well, it’s certainly a tricky subject,” Emile admitted, clicking a pen he’d pulled out of his pocket at some point. “But I’m doin’ what I love, so it makes it easy as callin’ a ninja turtle with a box of pizza! Would you say the same is true for your own major?”

“Well I guess it-” Suddenly, Virgil stopped dead in his tracks. Keeping his eyes glued to Picani, checking for any sort of detail or tell he could spot, he took a cautious step back in the direction of the door.

“Wait. How did you know I…?”

“Went to Sanders U too?” Picani finished, pulling a small notepad out of his cardigan pocket and quickly searching for a page. “Easy-peasy, Mac n’ Bloo… ey. You’ll probably think it’s kinda funny, but you…”

Snapping his fingers, the man flipped his notebook around to show the page he’d found. Scrawled at the top, in what Virgil could only describe as the handwritten equivalent of Comic Sans, was a very familiar name and number: _Virgil Anderson - Tenant 424A._

“Just happen to be one of my charges as Residential Advisor to the fourth floor of the dorm! And an elusive one at that! Like a purple, human version of Perry the Platypus! I kinda checked your name since I wasn’t actually sure if it was you or a different platypus without a hat. Or, in your case, your eyeshadow.”

“...What?” Virgil stood in utter befuddlement as Picani giggled excitedly at his new discovery. “You mean to tell me that you’re my RA? Like… the total stranger who got called into a bathroom I just happened to be having a panic attack in… has been my RA? For a month and a half?” Come to think of it, Virgil somehow couldn’t even picture what his RA looked like. How had that even…?

“Yeah, not gonna lie,” Picani pondered, “‘m kinda surprised you didn’t recognize me. I mean, you haven’t actually talked to me yet, but I figured you’d at least know what I looked like from the mandatory floor meetings.”

“Oh…! Yeah…” Virgil muttered, realization suddenly dawning on him. “I, uh… was kinda sitting in a back corner. Only really heard your voice, ya know? Everyone’s just… they’re so tall I guess...”

Truth be told, he hadn’t actually been to either meeting this year. He’d had the misfortune of getting stuck at work during both so far because the stupid schedule was always decided at the absolute last minute by whoever got hired as manager since pretty much all of them quit after a week or two. And of course he was not going to work up the gall to ask someone to cover for him no more than a day in advance over something he could easily get the information about from his roommates. It certainly explained his utter lack of information...

“Ah, a regular Blind Bandit, I see. Relyin’ on your other senses to see outside your protective manor.” Picani flipped the pad back around and quickly scribbled something on the page. “Well, it’s great to finally have a conversation with ya, even if it isn’t under the greatest of circumstances. Would you… maybe care to talk about whatever brought you here in the first place? You don’t have ta for my sake if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“N-not really…” Virgil murmured, shrinking down again and trying to keep his mind away from the thought of… _Deceit_ for now. He’d probably need to sleep on this can of worms just to be able to think it over by himself, Burton-forbid talk about it with another person. Picani nodded understandingly, jotting another quick note in his pad. “How… how’d Shades find me anyway?”

“Oh, ya mean Remy?” Emile asked, pointing his pen in the general direction of the main store. “I only got a quick refresher when I got here, but he said someone told him you were mutterin’ to yourself, started hyperventilatin’, and darted to the back area.”

_That_ was news to Virgil. Especially considering there was only one person who could possibly have reason to give such an inaccurate eyewitness account, particularly one that excluded any mention of his prime suspect’s presence. But this just opened up a whole new barrage of questions.

Why would Deceit lead “Remy” to him? Was he somehow trying to humiliate him at work? But that seemed too out of character for one of his usual schemes. Deceit wasn’t small-minded; his plans always had way bigger build-up. Whatever it was, he had to have some ulterior motive, just like their conversation before. Deceit _always_ had some ulterior motive. Nothing was straight-forward about his behavior. But what was the pay-off? What could both of his tricks be leading up to? What would happen to Virgil once they came to fruition? What-?

“Virgil? Are ya okay? Are ya relapsing?”

Emile’s concerned tone snapped Virgil out of his overthinking trance. Caught off-guard, he quickly shook his head and began nervously scratching his scalp again.

“Oh! Uh, nope,” he stammered. “I’m fine, just… thinking about stuff…”

“Well,” the other man considered, “I guess you know you best.” His face took on a more concerned-looking form than before as he clicked the pen shut and tapped it against the paper in front of him. “Still, as much as I enjoy this li’l Chat Noir we’ve been havin’, I think it’s probably best if you headed back for now.”

Oh shit,” Virgil sputtered, checking the time on his phone and registering just how long he’d probably been in this bathroom while still on the clock. “That’s right! I still have to comb the displays and I was gonna restock the hippie section and that stupid motion-sensing scarecrow probably fell over again by now and-!”

“Virgil,” Emile called out calmly, yet assertively. The emo froze in place, peeking back at him mid-step towards the door. “I meant it’s probably best if you headed _home._ Or, well, to the dorms in this case.”

“Wh-but my shift isn’t over for another-!”

“I know,” Emile firmly stated. “But you’re still recovering from a panic attack. Your mental health is just as important as your regular health. Trying to keep working in this state of mind would be like Deku trying to keep fighting with two broken arms. You’ll just hurt yourself more and make the damage harder to recover from in the long-term.”

“Isn’t that from an anime, not a cartoon?”

“Any well-crafted animation is worthy of my attention, but you’re tryin’ to deflect again,” Picani grumpily pouted, pointing the retracted tip of his pen upward. “My point is, you shouldn’t keep workin’ if ya get injured on the job. You know tryin’ to keep it up is only gonna cause you more harm.”

“But company policy mandates at least two employees on the floor at all times! We’re staffed at the bare minimum even with me staying here!”

“Which is exactly why Remy called in one of the other part-timers,” Emile sighed, somewhat regretfully. “Your sense of responsibility is admirable, Virgil, but ya gotta keep your own well-being in mind first and foremost. You don’t need ta worry about getting in trouble, everything’s taken care of.”

“But… I… they…” Virgil muttered as a feeling of guilt crept through his chest.

“Will do fine,” Picani completed once it was clear Virgil wasn’t finishing that sentence. “I’m sorry if this is a li’l… ‘heavy-handed,’ but ya need to take care of yourself. Balancing school and work is stressful enough on its own. As tricky as the mantle is to live up to, let us try to act as your Uncle Iroh in this situation. Runnin’ yourself ragged chasin’ the Avatar will only leave more damage.”

“‘Us?’”

“Myself and Remy,” Emile answered, to which Virgil only responded with a raised eyebrow. “I know you probably don’t know him too well, considerin’ I’ve only heard him mention you a couple times before, but he’s a kinder guy than people give him credit for. He was really concerned about you, ya know?”

Well, Virgil couldn’t deny that the guy at least… _sounded_ like he was trying before? And, if Picani’s testimony was to be believed, he had gone out of his way to find Virgil a replacement just so he could head back. And admittedly, the guilt of wasting the effort of someone who went out of their way to help him specifically would most definitely be more crushing than the guilt of leaving work early with a replacement.

“...Fine.”

“Hmm?” Emile held a hand to his ear. “What’s up, Doc?”

“I said fine... “ Virgil sighed reluctantly. “If there really is someone here to replace me, then… I GUESS I don’t really have a choice in the matter…”

“Yay! We did it, gang!” Picani cheered, pumping his fist in the air victoriously. “Now, you don’t have to head out right away if ya need to take some time to recenter, but I’m able to guide you out when you’re ready!”

“I’m fine,” Virgil grumbled. “Just need to clock out and put my apron back, anyway. And… no offense, but I think I’d prefer heading back to the dorms on my own. It’s short enough and I can handle myself just fine.”

“Well…” Picani mused. “I guess I’ll have ta trust you on that. I should head back out anyway since I’m preeeetty sure I’m not supposed ta be back here. Wouldn’t wanna get Rem in hot water. But I’m glad I was able ta help out!”

“Yeah. Thanks again,” Virgil sighed, waving toward the door. “C’mon. I’ll escort you back to the sales floor.”

“Aye-aye, cap’n!” Picani saluted enthusiastically, sticking his notepad and pen back in his cardigan pocket and following Virgil toward the storage area in back of the store. About halfway through their short walk to the curtain back to the floor, the older man spoke up again.

“Hey, Virgil?”

“Hmm?”

“If ya ever have the time, I really think we should pick up this discussion when you’re ready. Whatever’s goin’ on, it’d probably help to talk it out with someone. I may not be certified yet, but doctor-patient confidentiality still applies. You don’t have ta talk about it if ya really don’t wanna, but my door is open even if ya just wanna chat for a bit.”

“...Thanks,” Virgil muttered. “I’ll think about it.”

\------------------

It was around seven p.m. when Roman heard the door to his and Virgil’s room open behind him. He swiveled around in his desk chair, expecting to find one of their bespectacled suitemates searching for him, only to spot an unexpected sight. Slinking through the door was none other than the room’s other resident, not even bothering to say a word as he pulled off his signature patchwork hoodie and flopped face-first onto his bed.

“Oh. Hey, Raggedy Andy,” the pretty-boy greeted him with a somewhat surprised hint in his voice. “I thought you weren’t returning for another hour tonight?”

“Something came up,” Virgil mumbled into his sheets. “District manager or whatever. Sent all the non-management employees home early.”

“That’s a thing?” Roman pondered.

“What, never happened to you before?” grumbled the purple-haired man, rolling over onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

“Well, no,” Roman answered, standing from his chair and folding his arms, walking over to sit on the edge of his own bed. “But then again, I just worked at a stand-alone café start-up run by the owner. There was never a district manager anyway.” He leaned forward, quirking an eyebrow as he looked closer at Virgil’s face. “Hey, where’d your crazy amount of make-up go? I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without two inches of eyeshadow since August.”

“Washed it off. Don’t usually sleep with it on anyway, you just go to bed earlier.”

“Don’t you wake up earlier most days too? Explains the bags I can totally see now. I don’t wanna quote Logan or anything, but maybe you should get some more sleep. That can’t be healthy, and that’s coming from the one whose habits are usually called into question in our friend group.”

“I know,” Virgil sighed, sitting up for a bit to untie his boots and drop them off the side of the bed. “I was actually gonna try to catch up on that right about now.”

“Oh, good call,” mused the taller man, getting up and walking over to the desk he was sitting at before. “Want me to make you some sleepytime tea? I was planning to refill my mug anyway.”

“I…” Trailing off before he could finish, Virgil rolled to face the wall, pulling his comforter out from under him and covering all but the top half of his face in them. “I’m fine. I really just need to pass out right now. Thanks for asking, though...”

“If you say so,” Roman accepted with a shrug, picking up his mug and walking out toward the common area, switching the light off on his way out. “Night, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Virgil muttered, nuzzling further into his covers. “Night, Princey…”

Gently shutting the door behind him and stepping toward the door to the hall, Roman propped it open with the doorstop and headed toward the drinking fountain for his refill. All the while, he found his thoughts returning to Virgil.

Something was off. He couldn’t tell what exactly, but Roman couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that something was different from before. His roommate seemed strangely distant. A few weeks ago, the thought of Virgil acting distant and passive wouldn’t have received so much as an afterthought, but it was hard to argue that things had changed since then. So to have him seemingly slipping back into more uncomfortable territory was fairly... concerning.

_Probably just a rough day at work,_ Roman thought to himself, filling his mug with water and turning to walk back to the room. _I’m sure the little gremlin’ll be fine in the morning._

Reassuring himself a bit more and kicking the doorstop back alongside the wall, Roman gently shut the hall door and headed over to the kitchen, dumping the water in the coffee pod machine on the counter and starting the heating cycle. And as he went to grab a bag of vanilla-spice tea from the shelf, another stray thought entered his mind.

_When did I get so aware of Emo’s behavior...?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Picani gets revealed in all his adorable glory! Consider these past two chapters in honor of his birthday too. Also, Remy is a secret softie and no one can convince me otherwise. As always, feedback, theories, constructive criticism, etc. are more than welcome! Merry Chrysler, everybody!


	8. We Have Some Concerns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The original trio can't deny that something's been off about their roommate. Theories and pasta ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! Yay!

The buzz of students echoed throughout the dining hall as Roman and Logan attempted to eat their lunches. As they’d become well aware by this point, it was particularly difficult to argue with each other and still eat at a moderate pace. And, as usual, that was the balance they struggled to achieve once again.

The two were in the same gen-ed writing class on Tuesdays and Thursdays just before lunch, so they tended to walk together and strike up a conversation on their way. More often than not, this habit served to kickstart whatever frivolous debate they’d be locked in by the time they arrived at the dining hall. Today’s topic was decades and whether or not they began on years ending in “zero” or “one,” inspired by a passage they’d read in class about media trends by decade.

“For the love of Idris Elba! It’s simple math,” exclaimed Roman through a mouthful of apple. “Did they start counting years at year Zero? No they didn’t! The years started at One and so do the groups of years!”

“I must admit, I do understand your confusion,” Logan sighed as he twirled a forkful of spaghetti, “but that simply is not the case. While it’s true centuries and millennia begin on years ending in ‘one,’ decades actually deviate from this pattern by beginning on years ending in ‘zero.’”

“Wha-?! How does that even make sense?!”

“Technically speaking, groups of ten years are less commonly used in scholarly records than groups of one-hundred or one-thousand. They primarily exist to measure the evolution of culture while centuries and the like measure significant progression of human history.”

“Well that just sounds elitist,” Roman grumbled, folding his arms and sinking into his chair.

“You aren’t wrong,” Logan snorted. “In my experience, historians do tend to exhibit-”

A sharp CLANK on the table to Logan’s left promptly sent his train of thought toppling to the side of the tracks. His and Roman’s argument came to a surprised halt as Patton plopped into the empty seat, gazing over the meal in front of him. It didn’t take the other two long to conclude that their typically cheerful comrade was most definitely upset about something.

“Yeesh, Padre,” Roman spoke up concernedly. “What’s eating you? I haven’t seen you like this since I got that unlucky icebreaker roll.”

“You haven’t been watching the news again, have you?” Logan inquired, awkwardly placing a hand on Patton’s shoulder blade. “Are you in need of tactile communication?”

“Did you seriously use the words ‘tactile communication’ while trying to comfort your boyfriend?” Roman muttered while chewing on a piece of meatball, struggling to comprehend the utter enigma that was Logan’s methods of emotional-care.

“Thanks, Lo,” Patton sighed, one corner of his mouth quirking up at the gesture. “It’s just… you guys think Virgil’s been kinda ‘off’ lately too, right?”

Logan and Roman exchanged a glance across the table as they considered Patton’s question. The two had been fairly preoccupied with class this week, but they couldn’t deny that Patton’s question had merit.

As Virgil’s roommate and the one he spent the most time around out of necessity, Roman was fully aware he’d been acting differently these past few days. He’d become fairly less vocal than he was before, either opting to find somewhere else around campus to work or sitting around and sketching with his earbuds in, blocking out any attempts at casual conversation. It certainly wouldn’t have been unusual back in August or even early September, but he’d slowly become more conversive, opening up little by little since then.

But ever since the week began, he suddenly stopped, regressing back to his closed-off habits from before. Their dynamic’s improved state had made the shift back so seemingly abrupt that Roman couldn’t help but feel a bit “off” in the wake himself. In hindsight, he’d clearly grown incredibly accustomed to Virgil factoring in to daily life, to the point where this sudden lack of it just felt… _wrong_ somehow.

“He’s likely just focusing on preparations for our upcoming midterms,” Logan suggested. “His standard levels of anxiety would reasonably be raised by such a crucial impending set of assessments, especially as the first set in his college career. Such a transition can be difficult to ease into at first.”

“I guess…” Patton considered.

Admittedly, Logan’s theory made sense. Roman was fairly concerned about the upcoming exams himself and could definitely attest to the things he was saying. But even so…

“Not a bad idea,” he mused, stroking his chin and looking pensively into the distance, “but something doesn’t sound right.”

“In what manner?” Logan inquired, his fork ceasing its twirling as he cocked an eyebrow at Roman’s doubt.

“Whatever’s stressing him out doesn’t give off a work-frenzied vibe,” he explained, thinking back to his roommate’s recent behavioral patterns. “I’ve seen him when he has projects due. He normally stays up as long as he needs until it’s finished and gets all tunnel-visiony while he does it. Like when I’m writing one of my masterworks, but with homework and drawing instead.”

“I told him to start mending his sleep schedule,” Logan sighed, pinching his crinkled brow between two fingers.

“That’s the thing though,” Roman exclaimed. “The way he’s acting seems different than that! For one, he isn’t staying up till what I normally suspect is two or three in the morning. I’ve actually seen him pack up and turn to slumber before midnight a handful of times.”

“Wait, he consistently stays up until _three_ in the _morning?”_ Logan repeated, his pupils shrinking while Patton started making what Roman could only describe as “concerned dad noises.” It was at that moment when Roman decided not to inform them that he deduced that timeframe from accidentally staying up with Virgil himself a couple times in fear of getting another lecture from the group parents.

“Uh, pthh, but he’s _not,”_ Roman sputtered awkwardly, “as of late…” Yeah, no way he was fully diffusing that one for a while. His common reaction to being called out was far from subtle, especially to Logan and Patton. _Quick. Divert attention._

“B-but it’s not just that! H-he hasn’t been going all frantic or worn-out like he normally does either! And I don’t think he’s mad at us either, or he’d be acting like he was at the beginning of the year. All smug and bothered.”

The other two listened intently. Patton cast a look of worry towards their fanciful friend while Logan’s inquisitive face stayed front-and-center.

“And how _would_ you describe his mood, Roman?” questioned the logical friend. “You seem to have as potent a handle on emotional decryption as always, so what is your hypothesis?”

Looking to the bottom corner of his eyes and thinking back, Roman thought through the vibes Virgil had been presenting since the weekend, comparing every little mannerism he could remember to the performances he’d researched over the years. The more he thought about it, the more clearly the answer presented itself.

“It’s more like he’s… worried,” he deduced, his tone softening a bit as he spoke. “Almost kinda sad too. Like there’s something bothering him that’s out of his control instead of a heavy workload. Like a… sort of like a _gloom,_ you know?”

“Oh nooo,” Patton whined concernedly, pressing his fists to his mouth and leaning forward towards Roman. “Do you think he’s homesick?!”

“No way, Padre,” Roman dramatically, yet respectfully refuted. “From what I’ve gathered, the little gremlin is more in my boat on that matter. Neither of us bothered to go into detail, but he’s clearly _more_ than satisfied to be away from his old home.”

“Well then what could it be?” Patton whimpered, looking down at his plate and nomming on a meatball.

“To better form a meaningful deduction,” Logan stated firmly, raising his index finger, “we must consider all the variables presented to us. Roman, since you clearly have enough relative knowledge on the subject and spend the most time with Virgil, your input is clearly the most valuable. Do you recall when this so-called ‘gloom’ began to manifest?”

Looking back, it was a fairly easy question. The first instance of Virgil acting funny should have been…

“Sunday,” he answered promptly. “He ended up coming home from work early and just flopped into bed. Had his makeup off and everything. He didn’t seem all that weird at first. Just tired, really. But with everything blending together…”

“That would likely indicate the initial stages of his behavior,” Logan completed, holding his chin in thought.

“Oh no! Did something happen at his job, then?” Patton whined in concern. “You don’t think he got fired, do you?”

“He’s gone back since then,” Roman refuted. “No way he’d just pretend he was going to keep up appearances. Even Virgil’s not that self-conscious.”

“I concur. You would be much more likely to do so, Roman.”

“Wh- HEY! That’s…!” The pretty-boy stopped to think for a moment, scratching his scalp and snapping his fingers a few times. “It’s, uh… ‘perjur-...?’ No wait! _‘Conjecture!’_ That was it! You’re conjecting me, Phoenix Wrong!”

“I-... It’s ‘conjecturing.’”

“Ah-HA! So you admit it! Victory is mine once more!” Roman folded his arms with a proud smile while Logan simply gazed back, his face clearly displaying just how hard his mind was working to process the rebuttal. As per usual, the glasses-wearing man simply accepted the result as a syntax error in favor of helping Patton get the conversation back on track.

“So then what _did_ happen?” the dad-friend inquired through a mouthful of pasta.

“ _Ahem._ Well, assuming that his job or shift itself is, in fact, the root issue,” Logan began to ramble, redirecting his processing energy toward the more solvable topic, “then perhaps he was informed he’d have to take some sort of pay-cut, his superiors could be setting higher expectations…” 

“Or,” he continued, “the obvious reason; his average workload-per-shift has simply increased with the season. After all, if I recall correctly, he works for a Halloween store. It would be far from unusual for them to have a higher daily turn-out as the holiday approaches.”

“Rrgmph.” With a quick nod and a thumbs-up, Roman managed to convey the message of agreement his currently-obstructed mouth failed to. The other two simply looked at him with their personal faces of disapproval, wordlessly reminding him for the umpteenth time to finish chewing before attempting to chime in.

The final theory made a fair level of sense, especially considering Virgil’s somewhat pathetic capacity to interact with strangers. While Roman could hardly relate to his nearly constant preference to be left alone, he knew well enough from studying introverted characters that many people were simply wired that way. And, from what Roman had seen in the couple months they’d known each other, Virgil was definitely one of the more strongly wired cases. How that little hermit even managed to survive in a customer service position at all remained a complete mystery to his roommate.

“That being said,” Logan continued, “the possibility remains that the truth is a different factor entirely. Perhaps he received unrelated news at some point while he was out.”

“Like what?” Patton asked.

“Well, in that regard, the possibilities are rather numerous. There could have been a death in the family, a particularly sobering current event, a cancelation of something he once looked forward to-”

“We get it,” Roman groaned, rubbing his eyebrow. “Anything can and could have gone wrong. How does listing every crappy thing that could happen help us or Virgil in any way, shape, or form?!”

“My point,” Logan stated flatly, trying to restrain his frustration at Roman’s interruption, “is that the only way to conclude what has Virgil so upset is to simply ask him ourselves.”

“Wh-?! You’re kidding, right?” Roman stared across the table in total indignation, dramatically pushing back in his chair and nearly knocking into a passing student. He looked as if Logan had just suggested he commit tax fraud. “We can’t just _ask_ him what his deal is! There’s no way he’d just up and give us the answer! It’d just make things worse!”

“Have you _tried_ asking him what’s bothering him?” Logan flatly inquired.

“Well, no, but-”

“Then simply ask him,” Logan sighed. “It’s the most straight-forward and potentially effective solution. If he tells us, then we have our answer. If he opts against it, we’ll still have made our best effort and demonstrated that we care for his wellbeing, likely increasing his trust in us and sowing the idea in his mind that we’re willing to listen should he decide at some point that he _is_ comfortable sharing.”

“But… th-...” Roman pouted, pulling out his patented _Sad Prince Eyes_ and slumping in his seat. “That’s not how it worrrrks!”

“Life isn’t an overly-complicated novel, Roman,” Logan sighed. “Attempting to deduce the reason ourselves instead would only lead to unnecessary strife and miscommunication that we simply don’t have the time, nor the energy to put up with.” He paused for a moment. “Well, I don’t have the energy, at the very least. You, on the other hand, are likely just looking for something to garner your interest instead of studying for midterms.”

“He’s got a point, Roman,” Patton chimed in, offering a sympathetic gaze at his over-dramatic friend. “Since we’re trying to help Virgil, I think just asking is the best bet. Beating around the bush won’t get us anywhere.”

_...Dammit._

“Oh, fine,” Roman sighed, graciously conceding to the two. “I guess trying to ask Virgil if something’s up makes the most sense. But for your information, I am not trying to distract myself, thank you very much! I just don’t wanna push him further away by being too direct.”

“That is… a valid point,” Logan mused.

“Well… I think it’ll be fine.” The other two turned to face Patton as he spoke up. “Virgil’s opened up to us enough that I don’t think he’ll just up and lose that trust because we’re concerned about him. If one of us just asks him calmly, I’m sure he won’t be scared off. If he doesn’t wanna share, that’s fine. But I don’t think anything worse’ll happen.”

A soft smile crossed Logan’s face as he slightly readjusted his glasses.

“Well said, Patton. I couldn’t agree more.”

“Ugh,” Roman fake-gagged through a smirk. “You two are too soft for my lonely, single heart. Stop taunting me already.” Patton simply giggled and hugged Logan’s arm with a grin. Even Logan smirked, reaching to pat the mop of curly hair atop his boyfriend’s head with his free arm.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone eventually, Roman,” Logan chuckled. “Your ‘Prince Charming’ routine is not admittedly without it’s fair share of accuracies.”

“Damn right it isn’t,” the fanciful man boasted with a wink at the exact instant the screen on his phone lit up beside him.

“Ah great,” he grumbled, dismissing the notification and shoving the last of his pasta in his mouth. “I gotta head to math. Why must the education system insist on tormenting us with numbers?!”

“Bye, Roman!” Patton called with a wave as his friend gathered his dirty dishes and stood from the table. “Have fun in math!”

“Even you can’t make me, Padre,” Roman replied saltily as he headed toward the door with a smirk and a wave of his own. “See you later, suspense-haters! We’re not done with that conversation either! We are making sure everything’s okay and that’s final!”

“Goodbye, Roman,” Logan bid with a small smirk.

It wasn’t long before Roman was gone from his sight, leaving only him and Patton sitting at the table. He shifted his attention fully to Patton as his boyfriend turned to him with a notably curious smile.

“So what’s goin’ on with you today?” the shorter of the two chirped, entering his typical state of fatherly prying. “You’re talking about Roman’s future prince like you talk about facts. You never talk like that with stuff you aren’t certain about.”

“Well,” Logan mused, “I have a running theory. It isn’t concrete, but it’s certainly probable enough to consider.”

“Oooh! Does someone like Roman?” Patton squeezed Logan’s arm tighter as his eyes began sparkling with interest. “Who is it?! Do I know him?!”

“I’ll tell you if I manage to confirm my hypothesis,” Logan replied. “I don’t wish to form any premature conclusions or unnecessary drama.”

“Aww phooey,” Patton grumbled, fairly bummed by not being in on Logan’s secret theory. “Fine, but you gotta tell me if you find out for sure! I wanna help Roman too, ya know!”

“Of course you do,” Logan chuckled, his faint smile returning once again. “You have no need for worry. I assure you that you’ll be the first to learn of the results should my theory turn out to be correct.”

“Pinky promise?” Patton asked, holding out his little finger on the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his boyfriend’s arm. Logan’s smile grew even bigger at the endearing gesture. Patton’s childlike habits really could be unfathomably endearing at times.

“I promise,” he confirmed, locking pinkies with the shorter man and lightly shaking.

With a cheerful giggle at his victory, Patton wrapped the rest of his hand around Logan’s and gave him a quick peck on the shoulder, peeking up just in time to see a faint blush form on Logan’s cheeks.

“You’re the best, Lo!” he chirped. “Oh, hey! Did I show you this picture my sister sent yesterday? It’s hilarious! Anton climbed up on top of the fridge somehow and-!”

As Patton pulled out his phone to share yet another story of his younger siblings’ antics back home, Logan listened intently to his adorable ramblings. Though, as attentive as he was to his boyfriend’s story, the thought from before sat immediately on standby in Logan’s mind for later.

That being how to prove his theory that Roman and Virgil were displaying some form of attraction towards each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for how long this chapter took to get out. Turns out it's somehow harder to form a consistent flow when Virgil isn't actually present in the chapter. Hopefully I'll be able to get the next one out quicker, but fingers crossed on that for now. Until then, I hope you guys enjoyed this latest installment!


End file.
